Parallel
by Clare
Summary: Group B fic, told from the POV of a girl named Jenny who finds herself in the middle of a mysterious Maze, unable to remember anything except her first name. Title refers to the fact that the Trials for Groups A and B were run in parallel with each other.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

I was surrounded by darkness, standing in a room that was completely devoid of light; not even the slightest crack penetrated the blackness. And it wasn't only my physical environment that was black, my memory was too. Or at least the part of my memory that dealt with things like who I was, where I came from and who my family were. I could remember that the sky was blue, that apples grew on trees and stuff like that, but there were no personal memories to go with those facts. I could not remember looking up at the blue sky, eating an apple, or anything about my life before I found myself in this strange black place. Except one thing. My name.

Jenny.

Jenny what? I knew, without knowing how I knew, that people usually had at least two names, a given name and a family name. But, though I knew my name was Jenny, I could not recall what name I shared with the rest of my family. In fact, I couldn't remember my family at all; I knew they must exist somewhere, but any recollection of who they were or what they looked like had been erased from my memory. I didn't even know how old I was, though something told me I was at the transitional stage between childhood and adulthood. Again, I couldn't say how I knew that; it was just something I knew.

Who was I? Where was I? Those questions and many other circulated through my mind, but I couldn't begin to answer them. All I knew was that I was called Jenny and I was standing in a dark room; I couldn't even remember what I had been doing before I found myself here. Wherever here was . . . The room suddenly jolted, causing me to fall to the floor, as it started rising upwards. Something flashed in my mind and I realised this darkened room I was in was a lift of some sort. A lift, something else I remembered about the world, again with no personal memories associated with it. I closed my eyes, not that it mattered when I was in total darkness, and tried to recall when I had ridden in a lift before. But nothing came to mind.

I wondered where this lift was taking me. It seemed to be taking a long time and I had an uneasy feeling that something unpleasant awaited me when my vertical journey ended. But why was I here? Who had taken away my memories? What was going to happen to me? Huddled on the floor of the lift, I shivered, trembling with anticipation as I rose steadily upwards. Time had lost all meaning; I had no way of knowing if it was night or day outside, no way of knowing what time of year it was. I didn't even know how long I had been here, nor how long it would be until I reached my destination. Did I even _have_ a destination? Or was I going to be trapped in this darkened lift for the rest of my life, forever travelling upwards?

Just as I was pondering this grim possibility, the lift stopped moving. But it didn't open up. I sat huddled in the dark for several minutes before another memory flashed in my mind. Lifts had buttons on the inside, including one which opened the doors. So, if I felt the walls, I should be able to find that button and get out of here. I did not know what awaited me, but it couldn't be any worse than my current situation. Trapped in the dark, unable to remember anything about myself except my first name. Jenny. I was called Jenny and, for as long as I could remember, I had been in total darkness.

A few minutes later, I was still in total darkness. I'd felt all over the lift - all four walls, even the floor - but there was nothing that felt like a button. I began to panic. What if I never got out of here? What if my air ran out and I suffocated? What if someone did eventually come to let me out, only to find my skeleton huddled on the floor of the lift? In desperation, I began pounding on the wall nearest to me, my fists producing a ringing sound as they struck the metallic surface, screaming at the top of my lungs.

"Help! I'm trapped in here! Get me out!"

Suddenly, the ceiling opened up and light flooded in. I screwed my eyes shut - I'd been in the dark for so long by now that any light temporarily blinded me - and listened, trying to work out who had come to release me from my strange prison. Or was I being released? Was I about to be hauled out of here, only to be put to death almost immediately? After all, I couldn't remember anything about myself apart from my first name, so, for all I knew, I could be a condemned criminal about to face the ultimate penalty. But what could I have done to deserve such a fate? If I was as young as I suspected I was . . .

These somewhat morbid thoughts were cut off abruptly as several voices began talking at once.

"Who's this stick?"

"Wonder if this is what that alarm was for."

"Could be. We've been here a month and it's never gone off before."

"What are we gonna do with her?"

More voices joined in; there seemed to be around a dozen people looking down at me, but I couldn't see who they were. So I opened my eyes and, squinting against the light, looked up at my rescuers. My earlier estimate proved to be correct; twelve faces were peering down at me and, as my vision cleared, I saw that all the faces belonged to teenaged girls. There was one with dark skin and hair cut almost to her scalp, another with reddish-blonde hair, a third with light brown skin and long black hair . . . I did not know what I had been expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this. Who were these girls anyway? And how did they get here? Did they also come in the lift? Had they also had their memories wiped of all personal details except their first names? Before I could ask, the dark-skinned girl with the very short hair spoke. "Better get her out; the Box won't go until it's empty."

The next thing I knew, a rope was being lowered into what I had thought was a lift but which the dark-skinned girl had referred to as a "Box"; something about the way she said the word "Box" made me picture it spelled with a capital B, not that I remembered learning to read and write. Anyway, the rope was lowered and, knowing the alternative was staying in the Box for the rest of my life, I grabbed it, allowing myself to be hauled up. Soon, I was standing in the middle of a circle of girls, all of whom were looking at me curiously. Seconds which seemed like hours passed before I broke the silence. "Who are you?" I asked, my voice sounding strangely small. "And where are we?"

It was the girl with the reddish-blonde hair who answered. "I'm Sonya. This is Harriet," she added, pointing to the dark-skinned girl. "That's Indira." The girl with light brown skin and long black hair. "Then there's Victoria, Flossie, Emily, Marie, Joan, Beth, Harper, Ruth and Tegan." She pointed to each of her companions in turn as she said their names. "And we're in the Glade."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The Glade turned out to be a vast courtyard which was entirely enclosed within four impossibly high walls, ancient and covered with ivy. Each of the walls had a gap in the middle that looked wide enough for a human to walk through, but, to my surprise, none of the girls seemed inclined to go near them. "Why don't you . . .?" I started to ask. But Harriet cut me short.

"Those lead to the Maze," she told me, seeing that my gaze was directed towards the nearest opening. "And no-one's allowed in the Maze except the Runners - under _any_ circumstances. The rest of us just stay put and hope the Runners find a way out."

"A way out of where?" I asked. Even with my memories of my former life pretty much non-existent, I knew I had never been in a place like this before. A place where the entire population seemed to amount to a dozen young girls . . . No, wait - Harriet had said something about "Runners", who were presumably inside that mysterious Maze right now.

"A way out of the Maze, of course!" It was Flossie who spoke this time. She was a tall girl with long copper-coloured hair and ice-blue eyes, probably around sixteen years old. Indeed, most of the group seemed to be fifteen to seventeen years old or thereabouts, though one or two looked a little younger. "That's what they've been doing every day for the last month. For as long as any of us can remember," she added, looking straight at me.

I gave an involuntary gasp as the meaning of Flossie's word sunk in; it seemed that, like me, these girls had had their memories wiped before being sent here. But why? For what purpose? I was tempted to ask, but I sensed that they would have no more idea than I did. "So, how did you . . . sticks get here?" I asked instead, not entirely sure what they meant by "sticks", but sensing that it was some sort of slang they'd developed. "Did you all come up in that Box?"

"No idea," Flossie said, shrugging. "We just woke up here one day, unable to remember anything except our first names. Bet that happened to you, didn't it . . .?" She paused, waiting for me to supply my name.

"Jenny," I filled in, grateful to be able to tell them at least that much about myself. It was weird the way my memory had been wiped; somehow, whoever had done it had left my knowledge of the workings of the world intact, but removed anything associated with personal experiences. If anyone had asked me right then where I came from, whether I had any brothers or sisters, what sort of music I liked, if I even _liked_ music, I couldn't have answered them. I knew what music was, but I had no memories of any specific tunes, much less how I felt about them. All I could remember was my first name.

"Right, Jenny," Flossie went on. "Anyway, we woke up here with our memories wiped and no idea how we were going to get out. Then some of us had the idea of exploring through there." She nodded towards one of the openings in the walls. "That's how we found out about the Maze."

* * *

The thirteen of us had been walking all the while and we presently reached what seemed to be a construction site with seven people working on it. The strange thing was that they were all teenaged girls too; there seemed to be no boys in this place, nor adults of either gender. No little kids either; the youngest people I'd seen so far were Emily and Tegan, who looked like they were about thirteen years old. That was another mystery to add to those that already surrounded this place called the Glade: why did the entire population consist of adolescent females? Including myself, there were twenty of us in the Glade itself, but I had no idea how many Runners were out in the Maze. "So how many of you are there?" I asked, thinking it sounded like a stupid question but needing to know. If only to satisfy my own curiosity.

"There were thirty of us," replied Indira. By now, most of the girls had dispersed and she and Flossie were the only ones near me. "Now we're down to twenty-seven." She nodded meaningfully to the far corner of the Glade. I did not need to ask what lay in that direction; her tone of voice said it all.

"Well, you can make that twenty-eight now I'm here," I said, trying not to think about how the three who'd died came to lose their lives. I remembered the moment in the Box when I'd wondered if I was on my way to be executed for some unknown crime; to my relief, it seemed that was not the case. Nevertheless, from what I'd seen of this place so far, I had a feeling it was far from being a safe haven. It was more like a vast prison whose only exit lay at the end of a Maze . . . Wait! If these girls had been here for a month, why hadn't they found a way out before now? Surely the Maze couldn't be _that_ difficult to solve?! I put these questions to Indira and Flossie, both of whom responded with shrugs and shaken heads.

"How should we know?" Indira asked in reply. "We're not Runners and only Runners are allowed in the Maze." I remembered Harriet telling me the exact same thing. "But we do know that the walls move every night," Indira went on. "I guess that makes it difficult to keep track, not that they don't try." She pointed to a small windowless building whose door was securely bolted. "That's the Map Room; it's where the Runners go to draw up the latest Maps of the Maze. And they've been studying them every night for the past month . . ."

"But they're still no nearer to a solution," I finished, guessing what she was going to say next. I looked in the direction of the nearest opening, one of the four entrances to the mysterious Maze whose walls moved every night. The Maze which, even after a month, still remained unsolved, leaving over two dozen girls trapped in the middle of it. Then, a thought occurred to me. "Are you sure there isn't another way out? The Box, maybe?"

Indira let out an ironic laugh. "You think we haven't thought of that? First time it delivered supplies to the Glade, a couple of us tried climbing inside, hoping it would take them away from here. Fuzzing thing wouldn't move until they got out. And, as for trying to climb down the Box Hole when the Box isn't here, it's so black down there you can't see how far you have to go to reach the bottom. Much less what's down there." She shook her head in a way which said she had no intention of finding out any time soon.

* * *

I ended up spending the rest of the day in Flossie and Indira's company. The two of them had been good friends for as long as they could remember, which, of course, meant for the last month; they had no way of knowing if they had been friends before they came to the Glade, but they were friends now. Friends. I wished I could remember who my friends in the outside world were, but I couldn't begin to picture their faces, never mind remember their names. In fact, I couldn't even remember what I myself looked like and I hadn't seen a mirror since I found myself here. Mirrors. Why did I remember what mirrors were, but not what my own reflection looked like? My loss of memory confused and frightened me, but I suspected the rest of the girls felt the same. The difference was that they had all been here for a month and had had time to get to know each other, to forge friendships. I had only just arrived and, so far, the only people I'd spoken to at any length were Flossie and Indira.

"What do I look like?" I asked, as the three of us stood watching Emily and Tegan pulling up weeds in what Flossie had referred to as the "Garden". These two were the smallest and youngest girls in the Glade; the others had nicknamed them the Pips, short for Pipsqueaks. Emily had blonde hair which came down to her waist and emerald green eyes, while Tegan's hair was short and dark, her eyes hazel. I looked at the two of them for a moment, then back at Flossie and Indira and repeated my question. It sounded like a stupid thing to ask someone, but, when you can't remember anything about yourself except your first name . . .

"Well, you're slim," replied Indira. "You've got brown hair and brown eyes and I'd say you were about . . ." She paused for several seconds. ". . . fifteen years old. I think I'm fifteen too," she added. "And Flossie's about a year older. Not that I know for sure; none of us know exactly how old we are."

We continued to hang out for a while longer - I tried in vain to remember when I'd hung out with my friends from before I arrived in the Glade - before Flossie said we had to get back. It was getting late and the Runners were due back soon. And Harriet and Sonya (the leaders of this group of nearly thirty amnesiac teenaged girls, I'd learned from Flossie and Indira) liked to have everyone gathered together to hear the latest reports from the Maze. Not that these reports ever varied, Indira told me; for the past month, the Runners had always come back with the same news. No sign of a way out.

* * *

Indira, Flossie and I returned to the construction site; Flossie told me it was eventually going to be a Dwelling for the whole group, all twenty-eight of us. I was already beginning to think of myself as belonging to this little community, even though I'd only been here for a few hours. I might be trapped in this place, with no way out except through a Maze which no-one had managed to solve, but at least I wasn't alone here. Indira and Flossie seemed like decent . . . sticks. Sticks, fuzzing, Pips. The slang of the Glade. Even with my memory wiped, I knew I'd never heard anyone else use those words in the same context they were used by these girls.

Anyway, we were at the site of our future Dwelling and so were the rest of the girls. All of us were keeping watch for the Runners; they should be back any minute according to Flossie, who was wearing a digital watch on her wrist. She'd told me she was the Keeper of the Medics, whatever that meant, and that was why she'd been given the watch. All the Keepers - there were seven of them altogether - had been issued with these watches, as had all the Runners. "Helps them keep track of time in the Maze, I guess," she said when I asked about this. "Because you don't want to be caught out there at night." She shook her head and shuddered in a way which told me that whatever happened in the Maze at night couldn't be good.

"That's how Val, Connie and Linda died," Indira added. "The Doors were closed on the first day we were here. But, when they opened for the first time, ten of us went exploring in the Maze, only we didn't know the Doors closed every night then; we thought they were going to stay open all the time now that they were open. And we didn't know the walls inside the Maze moved too. You can imagine what a shock we had when they suddenly started rearranging themselves, but we knew it meant the Doors might be closing as well. We ran as fast as we could to get out of there, but three of us didn't make it. The Grievers got all of them." Her tone was grim. "That's why Harriet and Sonya made it a rule that only the Runners could enter the Maze and even they aren't allowed out there after dark. We haven't lost anyone since, so I guess that rule's working."

"What are Grievers?" I asked. The very word sounded evil and, from what Indira had said, these "Grievers" had killed the girls called Val, Connie and Linda.

But, before either Flossie or Indira could reply, a shout went up from Tegan. "They're coming! Yoko and Kate! They're coming!"

Everyone looked in the direction she was pointing. I looked too. A pair of girls were running towards us; one of them was short with black hair and almond-shaped eyes, while her companion had light brown hair tied back in a ponytail. They were sweating, breathing heavily as if they had been running hard for some time; that must be why the people who went into the Maze were called Runners. But they didn't stop, not even to acknowledge those who had been waiting for them to return, and made straight for the windowless building which Indira had called the Map Room. The black-haired Runner, Yoko, unbolted the door and disappeared inside, followed by Kate. I wondered for a moment how I'd known Yoko was the Runner with black hair, then I remembered something. Yoko was a Japanese name and Japanese people were short with black hair and almond shaped eyes, like the girl I'd just seen. Again, I couldn't say where I'd learned that information; it was just something I knew.

* * *

At length, two more pairs of Runners appeared and went into the Map Room; I learned their names from Indira and Flossie. First came Ada and Felicia, who looked so alike with their fair hair and blue eyes that I wondered if they were sisters. Indira said they might be, but she didn't know for sure and, of course, Ada and Felicia couldn't remember anything about themselves except their first names. The other pair comprised Cass, who had coffee-coloured skin and frizzy black hair, and Caroline, whose auburn hair was pinned to her head in a braid. Cass, the last one to enter the Map Room, was about to close the door when Harriet stopped her.

"Wait. Patra and Anne aren't back yet. Better give 'em a few minutes." There was something about her tone of voice that told me the last two Runners - Patra and Anne, according to Harriet - _would_ only have a matter of minutes to get back to the Glade. "If they're not back by the time the Doors start to close . . ." She looked as though she was about to say something, but changed her mind at the last minute. "Anyway, if they're not back by then, you sticks get about your map-making." The way she said it was completely matter-of-fact, as if she didn't care that two people would effectively be condemned to death if they got trapped in the Maze.

I turned to Indira and Flossie. "Why doesn't she send someone in after them?" But, even as I asked that question, I knew what the answer would be. Flossie's next words only confirmed it.

"It's too risky. The Doors are about to close and Patra and Anne could be anywhere in there. Going after them would only lead to more of us being trapped. We'll just have to hope the Runners find them. Or," she added grimly, "whatever's left of them."

I did not like the sound of that; from the way Flossie spoke, it sounded as though Patra and Anne would be facing a fate far worse than death if they got caught in the Maze. Which seemed to be inevitable unless they showed up soon. "What do you mean, whatever's left of them?" I asked, my voice trembling even though I tried to control it. I'd already been told there were creatures called Grievers in the Maze and that they had killed three people, a death toll which seemed set to increase to five. But how did the Grievers kill their victims?

Flossie hesitated as though what she was about to tell me was so horrible that she didn't know how to put it into words. "It was three days before they found Val, Connie and Linda," she told me. "Linda's body was more-or-less intact, but all they could find of Val and Connie was a few leftover pieces. So . . ." She was cut off abruptly as a deafening boom echoed through the Glade, followed by the sound of something grinding, like gears only many times louder. The vibrations were so strong that I had to struggle to stay on my feet; it felt like an earthquake, something else I could remember with no personal references to go with that memory. Had I ever been in an earthquake? Or had I only read about them in books? Books. I could remember what books were, but not which ones I'd read.

Just as I was wondering why whoever had sent me here had erased nearly all my personal memories but left my knowledge of cold, hard facts intact, I saw something I wouldn't have believed possible if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. The walls, those enormous stone walls which had to be at least a hundred feet tall, were moving or at least the ones on the right were, sliding to meet their neighbours on the left. I'd expected huge metal barriers to slam down, but this . . .

"Someone's coming!"

The shout, audible even above the grinding of the moving walls, startled me out of my thoughts. It was Tegan again; she was pointing to one of the now half-closed Doors. I looked and saw someone running up the passage which lay beyond, but only one person which meant the other missing girl's chances of making it back in time were not looking good. I silently willed this girl on, praying for her to reach the Glade before she was sealed into the Maze. From where I stood, I could see that she was getting nearer the exit, but at the same time the opening was getting narrower. "Please hurry," I found myself whispering, not that it was likely to make any difference. She would either make it to the Glade and live to run the Maze another day or she would be trapped with the deadly creatures which Flossie and Indira called Grievers.

* * *

In the end, with moments to spare, the girl emerged from the Maze, sweating and panting even more than the first six Runners. She had the same dark skin as Harriet, but, whereas Harriet's hair was so short that she was practically bald, this girl's hair was long and had been arranged in dreadlocks. And she was clearly in a state of exhaustion, suggesting that something bad must have happened to her in the Maze, something which had delayed her return. I wondered what that was, but I didn't have to wait long to find out.

Harriet and Sonya had hurried over to her the moment she emerged from the Maze. "Patra?" I heard Sonya say. "What happened in there?"

Patra was panting so heavily she could hardly speak. "Griever . . . chased . . . me . . . Anne . . . drew . . . it . . . off . . ." That was as much as she could get out before she collapsed, falling unconscious against Sonya.

At the same instant, the Doors closed with a final resounding boom.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I stared at the walls for a long time - I couldn't say how long - my gaze fixed on the spot where, moments before, there had been an opening leading into the Maze. Now, however, there was just solid, impenetrable stone, a barrier to protect the girls in the Glade from the horrors called Grievers which I had been told roamed the Maze at night. I tried not to think about Anne, locked in with the Grievers, knowing there was nothing I or anyone else could do for her. Knowing these girls had lost three of their number to the Grievers already and now seemed set to lose a fourth. Grievers. They sounded like something out of a nightmare, not that I remembered having any nightmares. I remembered nothing whatsoever about my life before I came to the Glade which had been my home (and my prison) for the past few hours. Apart from the fact that my name was Jenny . . .

"Medics!"

The shout from Sonya jolted me out of my thoughts and I turned to see her and Harriet kneeling beside Patra, the Runner who'd barely escaped from the Maze before the Doors closed. Flossie and Indira hurried over immediately, followed by another of the girls I'd seen when I emerged from the Box. Harper, if I remembered correctly. She was short and slightly plump, with brown hair and grey eyes, probably fifteen years old, the same age as Indira and myself. If Indira's guess was right and, thanks to whoever had wiped my memory, I had no way of knowing. Anyway, Flossie, Indira and Harper hurried over to join Harriet and Sonya as they knelt at Patra's side.

I followed them out of curiosity, peering over Flossie's shoulder as she examined Patra. The latter's eyes were closed, but she was breathing, so she was still alive. But what had caused her to collapse like that? Exhaustion? Or was it something more? And what was going to happen to the girl named Anne? "What happened to her?" I asked, prompting the five girls kneeling beside Patra to look at me grimly.

"The Grievers," Indira replied, taking Patra's pulse. "She said she was chased by one of them, but Anne drew it away from her. But I've never heard of the Grievers appearing during the day before," she added. "Until now, they've only come out after the Doors closed for the night, so why the sudden change?"

Harriet shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. But it means the Runners had better stay alert from now on, just in case this wasn't a one-off." Her expression told me that, while she hoped no more Grievers would appear in the Maze during the day, she knew whoever was responsible for our being in this strange place had just upped the ante, made it more difficult for those tasked with finding a way out. Which meant further encounters of the sort which had led to Patra barely making it back to the Glade before the Doors closed were all but inevitable.

"What's going to happen to Anne?" I didn't even know the girl who had just become trapped in the Maze - at least I didn't think I did - but I didn't like the thought of her being imprisoned with the Grievers, creatures which sounded liked something out of a nightmare.

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for her now," said Harriet, climbing to her feet. She began taking charge in a way which made me understand how she and Sonya had come to be the leaders of these girls. "We have to concentrate on Patra, get her Maze fit again. Harper, Sonya and I will set up the Screen. Flossie and Indira, you two carry Patra. Jenny . . ." She paused after she said my name, making me wonder what instruction she was going to give me.

"Yes?"

"Get yourself something to eat and make yourself a bed for the night."

* * *

I was a little disappointed by this at first, but then I realised Harriet and the others didn't need my help right now; I would just get in the way. All the same, it left me at rather a loss; of the other girls here, I'd so far only spent any length of time with Indira and Flossie, both of whom were now occupied with Patra. Still, they and Harper were the Medics, which meant that, if someone was injured or ill, that person had to take priority. So, heaving a sigh, I went to where a group of girls were gathered around a firepit, over which two of them were roasting a pig on a spit. I did not need to wonder where they got it from; I had already seen that several farm animals shared the Glade with these girls. Farm animals - sheep, pigs, cows, chickens. I remembered what they were, but, as with everything else, there were no personal memories to go with that knowledge.

At length, the two cooks - Marie and Ruth, I recalled from Sonya's introduction of the twelve girls who had been gathered around the Box when I arrived - declared that the meat was cooked. That seemed to serve as a cue for everyone to stop what they were doing and form a line, waiting to be served. I joined the end of the line and, as I did so, it hit me that I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten roast pork, couldn't even remember what I'd had for breakfast this morning. As I waited, I glanced over to where a folding screen had been set up; I needed no-one to tell me this was the Screen Harriet had mentioned and that she, Sonya, Indira, Flossie and Harper were currently treating Patra behind it.

Patra, the girl who had barely escaped from the Grievers. I still didn't know exactly what the Grievers were, but, from what I'd seen of Patra after she emerged from the Maze, I could tell they were bad news. I knew they were killers, of course; they had already caused three deaths and, from the look of things, they were going to cause a fourth. Out loud, I wondered what these creature were and what was so terrible about them.

"They're why you shouldn't go into the Maze unless you're a Runner." It was Yoko, one of the pair of Runners who had emerged from the Maze first; she was standing directly in front of me. "They look like giant slugs with spikes and blades all over. And that's all you need to know about them for now," she added grimly.

* * *

As it turned out, I didn't have to wait long to catch my first glimpse of a Griever. I had just made myself comfortable in the shade of a tree, as had a few of the other girls; until the Dwelling was completed, everyone would sleep outside. I'd wondered what they did if it rained, but one of the girls - I didn't know her name, but she was among the seven I'd seen working on the Dwelling earlier - said there hadn't been a drop of rain the whole time they'd been here. All their water was piped in from somewhere, though she couldn't tell me any more than that. Anyway, I'd just made myself comfortable and was about to doze off when someone shook me awake.

"Come and look at this." It was Emily, one of the youngest girls in this place. She got up and headed for the nearest wall, beckoning me to follow her. I did as she told me, wondering what was so important that she had to show me _now_ , rather than waiting until morning. And what exactly was she going to show me anyway? Part of the wall? And, if so, what made this section of wall different from all the others? I was about to ask her when she lifted up a section of ivy, revealing a dirty perspex window. Through it, I could see a long corridor whose high walls were covered with ivy like the walls in the Glade, but nothing else.

"Is that the Maze?" I asked.

"Part of it," Emily replied. "The Runners call it Section A. I've never been in there, of course, but I know three of the sticks who went to explore the Maze just after we arrived never came back, not alive anyway. And the rest of them barely made it out in time. If you wait, you might get to see why it's not a good idea to get caught in there after dark."

As if on cue, something appeared in the corridor, something which looked like a giant slug. Except no slug ever looked like this; I knew that, even though I couldn't remember anything about myself except my name. Apart from its size, it was covered with spikes and appendages, making it appear like something out of a nightmare. Each of those appendages was topped with a tool or a weapon of some description, suggesting that the thing was not entirely organic. And, even though I'd never seen one before, I knew exactly what I was looking at. "A Griever," I said out loud, watching the horror in the Maze with revolted fascination. "Yoko told me about them," I added in response to Emily's puzzled look.

"Right," she said. "And I'm glad it's out there and we're in here." She shuddered, suddenly looking like the vulnerable approximately thirteen-year-old girl she was.

* * *

Somehow, despite the horror I had seen through the window, I managed to fall asleep, waking to find Indira and Flossie looking down at me. We stared at each other for several seconds before Flossie spoke. "It's about time you woke up. Everyone else has been up for two hours already, but I guess Harriet and Sonya let you sleep late because you're new." She and Indira looked as though they hadn't slept a great deal last night; I guessed they must have been tending to Patra, but I didn't ask about that. I'd learned as much about the Maze and the horrors within it as I wanted to know, but I had a feeling that I would find out more later. Whether I wanted to or not.

"So where are the others?" I asked instead.

"Busy," replied Indira. "The Farmers with the animals. The Gardeners with the crops. The Builders with constructing the Dwelling. Don't know what those sticks will do when the place is finished - take care of maintenance, I guess. The Runners are in the Maze, of course." Hearing this, I wondered how they could bring themselves to go back in there after what had happened to Anne and Patra yesterday. "I don't know." Indira must have seen the questioning look I'm sure I had on my face. "I suppose they want to make sure we didn't lose Anne for nothing. And the only way they can do that is to keep looking for a way out. Not that it's going to be easy with only six of them," she added, gazing in the direction of the nearest Door. "And their Keeper's been put out of action, so . . ."

I did not listen to the rest of what Indira said; I was too busy thinking about the Keepers. I already knew Flossie was the Keeper of the Medics and it seemed Patra was the Keeper of the Runners, or at least she had been until last night. But I still didn't know who the other five Keepers were, nor exactly what they did. I put both questions to Flossie, who started counting them off on her fingers as she answered.

"Well, Victoria is the Keeper of the Farmers." Victoria was a tall blonde girl who had been among those gathered around the Box when I arrived in the Glade. Was that really only yesterday? It already felt as though I'd spent my whole life in this place. I'd certainly been here for as long as I could remember, but where had I been before I found myself in that dark Box? My memory loss confused me no end, but I shook it off and continued listening to Flossie's recital of the Keepers' names and functions. "And Beth's the Keeper of the Gardeners." Another name I recognised from Sonya's introduction, this one belonging to a girl with shoulder-length brown hair. "Then there's Joan for the Cleaners." It took me a moment to place Joan, but then I remembered that she was the girl with light brown pigtails who'd been next to Indira when I emerged from the Box. "Marie for the Cooks." I'd seen her last night; she had jet black hair which she wore in a ponytail. "And Eve for the Builders." Not a name I recognised; I hadn't met any of the Builders yet, though I had seen them about the Glade.

* * *

It turned out that Indira and Flossie were on their way to get themselves a spot of breakfast. Normally, Indira told me, breakfast would be over by now, but she and Flossie had been tending to Patra while Harriet, Sonya and Harper got something to eat. They invited me to join them, which suited me down to the ground; apart from anything else, it would give me a chance to get to know them a bit better, not that there was much they could tell me. Whoever had wiped our memories had seen to that. None of us could recall anything about our lives before we ended up here; we had been robbed of our pasts for reasons none of us could understand.

We arrived at the spot where we had eaten our supper of roast pork last night, finding it deserted apart from Marie, who was frying something in a pan over a campfire. She looked up as we approached and smiled in greeting. "Hi," she said. "I knew you three would be late, so I prepared something for you especially. I hope you like bacon and eggs," she added, addressing me.

I sniffed and the aroma of frying bacon and eggs filled my nostrils. But, though I recognised the smell, there were no memories to go with it, so I couldn't say whether I liked bacon and eggs or not. So I simply shrugged and said I would give it a try. It was so weird knowing what things were but not being able to recall whether or not I had personally encountered those things. I wondered if I would ever be cured of this strange amnesia which had erased almost everything relating to who I was from my memory. And then there was the question of who had done this to us.

"We think it was the Creators," Marie said when I asked this question through a mouthful of bacon.

"The Creators?"

Marie nodded, as did Indira and Flossie. "That's what we call the sticks who sent us here. After all _someone_ created this place." She gestured round at the Glade, where the rest of the girls were going about their business; from where I was sitting, I could see Emily and Tegan watering rows of what I recognised as lettuces. "And someone made sure we had what we needed to survive," Marie went on. "Seeds, animals, tools, building materials - that sort of stuff. Fresh supplies come in the Box once a week, but you were the first new _person_ , so perhaps you were sent to replace someone who died."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I was told you'd lost three people before I came, so why didn't they send me before? And why didn't they send two other people with me? The Box is big enough."

But neither Marie nor Flossie and Indira had an answer to that. Nor did they have an answer as to why our memories had been wiped, which made me feel decidedly uneasy. What was it about our past that the Creators didn't want us to remember?

* * *

I had little time to dwell on where I had come from and why I was here. My first full day in the Glade was taken up with work, starting with helping Victoria to milk the cows; there were two of them called Bluebell and Hyacinth and they had to be milked by hand since there was no milking parlour here. Again, I knew what a milking parlour was, but I could not remember where I had learned that information. In any case, there wasn't one in the Glade, so Victoria and I had to sit on stools, squeezing udders and releasing milk into the metal buckets which had been placed beneath each cow. Which was a lot harder than Victoria made it appear.

"You'll get better with practice," she told me. "Don't forget, I've only been doing this for a month myself."

"I guess so," I said, leaning my head against Bluebell's flank. "Who are the other Farmers?" I added as a question occurred to me. I already knew which of the girls in the Glade were Runners, Gardeners, Medics or Cooks and I knew the Builders by sight, if not by name. But there seemed to be no other Farmers apart from Victoria, nor any Cleaners except Joan.

"I'm the only one who works with the animals full time," Victoria replied. "But Emily and Tegan help out occasionally. Collecting eggs, that sort of stuff." She nodded towards a low wooden shed, from which I could hear the clucking of chickens. Chickens. Something else I remembered without knowing why I remembered it. But something about what Victoria had said puzzled me slightly. She'd mentioned that Emily and Tegan helped her with the animals sometimes, but I'd assumed they were Gardeners since I'd seen them working in the Garden. "They are," Victoria said when I asked about this. "But they're also Farmers. Most of us here have more than one job. Except the Runners, of course - they're too busy looking for a way out of that fuzzing Maze. And, after what happened yesterday . . ." She shook her head as if trying to banish thoughts of Anne and Patra.

* * *

Talking of Anne and Patra, the latter had regained consciousness. But, according to the Medics, it was too early to say whether or not she would ever fully recover mentally from what she had seen in the Maze. Physically, she seemed fine - her collapse had been caused by exhaustion and shock - but neither Flossie, nor Indira, nor Harper knew what her ordeal had done to her mind.

"What's going to happen to Patra?" I asked Flossie, as we stood waiting for the Runners to return from the Maze. Everyone in the Glade who wasn't a Runner was here, with the exception of Harper, who was behind the Screen, tending to the girl who was the Keeper of the Runners. Or at least she had been until yesterday, when she barely escaped from one of the horrors we called Grievers.

Flossie shook her head. "We don't know," she told me. "It's too early to say if and when she'll be able to go back into the Maze. If she can't . . ." She broke off as two figures emerged from the Maze, carrying something between them. Ada and Felicia, the two Runners I suspected might be sisters, and the thing they were carrying was another girl, one with short brown hair, whose entire body was covered with bulging green veins. I did not need to be told that this was Anne, the girl who had been trapped in the Maze last night. Nor did I need to be told that she was dead.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The following evening, all of us (with the exception of Patra, who was still in shock from what had happened to her out in the Maze, and Flossie and Harper, who were tending to her) trooped silently towards the area of the Glade which had been designated as the graveyard. Harriet and Sonya, as the leaders of this bizarre little community of teenaged girls, took the lead; the rest of us followed behind. Walking beside Indira, with Emily and Tegan immediately in front, I tried to remember if I'd ever been to a funeral, but nothing came to mind. At least nothing personal. I knew what a funeral was, but any memories I might have of attending, say, my grandmother's funeral had been stolen from me.

Four of the Builders - Indira told me their names were Golda, Vera, Alexandra and Sylvia - were carrying a roughly made coffin which contained the mortal remains of Anne, the girl who had died out in the Maze, killed by the creatures these girls called Grievers. I hoped I would never find myself face-to-face with a Griever; glimpsing one through a dirty window had been bad enough, not to mention that they had already killed four people. And then there was Patra, who had barely made it back to the Glade before the Doors closed. She was unable to attend the funeral of the girl who had been her running partner and there was no telling how long it would be until she was ready to go back into the Maze.

Presently, we reached the graveyard. I could see three mounds of earth, the graves of those who had died before I came to the Glade. Each of them was marked with a piece of wood, on which someone had painted the name of the girl who was buried there; Linda's grave was on the left, Connie's in the middle, Val's on the right. Except, from what Flossie had told me, only small fragments of Connie and Val had been recovered, so their graves must contain only those small fragments. I did not want to think about what had happened to the rest of them.

* * *

We halted by a freshly dug grave and gathered around it, our heads bowed. It was Harriet who stepped forward to stand at the head of Anne's coffin and address the rest of us. "We are gathered together to say goodbye to Anne of the Runners," she said, her voice betraying no sign of emotion. "Anne was a good stick and a good Runner, but, in the end, she could not outrun the Grievers. But we must remember that she died trying to find a way out of the Maze and pray that our remaining Runners succeed where she failed. That way, her life won't have been wasted."

I gazed round at the girls standing around the grave. Indira, Emily, Tegan, Victoria, Marie and all the rest, wondering what was going through their minds. Were they, as I was, trying to remember if they had ever been to a funeral before they found themselves in this strange place we called the Glade? Were they thinking about the fact that this was the second funeral they had attended in the few weeks they had been here? Were they wondering which of them would be the next to die? Not very pleasant thoughts, but this clearly wasn't a pleasant place from what I'd seen so far. We were prisoners, trapped in the middle of a Maze whose corridors were patrolled by monsters which had killed four people, a Maze whose exit had eluded those who had already spent a month searching for it. And because our memories had been wiped, none of us knew why we were prisoners, or even who had imprisoned us. All we knew was that, judging by what had happened to Val, Connie and Linda, and now Anne, whoever had sent us here did not mean for all of us to get out alive.

As soon as Anne was in her grave and we had all thrown in a handful of soil, most of us headed back, leaving Beth, the Keeper of the Gardeners, to finish filling in the grave. Everyone else gathered outside the Dwelling, which seemed to be the customary meeting place in the Glade, as Harriet and Sonya took their places in front of us. This time, it was Sonya who spoke to all of us. "Listen up, everyone," she said. "Four of us are dead, but twenty-seven of us are alive. And, if we want to stay that way, we must not dwell on what happened to Anne. Instead, we must go about our business as usual. Yoko, Kate, Ada, Felicia, Cass and Caroline will continue to search for a way out of the Maze. As will Patra when she recovers."

"In the meantime," Harriet added, "the remaining Runners must decide among themselves who will be their temporary Keeper. And all six of them must be extra vigilant while out in the Maze; we can't afford to lose anyone else. As for the rest of us, I agree with Sonya. We must carry on as I'm sure Anne would want us to do. And keeping busy will take our minds off what's happened. First thing in the morning . . ."

She was cut off by a grinding sound which was already becoming familiar to me, the sound of the Doors closing for the night. At least this time there was no danger of anyone being trapped in the Maze; the Runners had returned early so that they could go to Anne's funeral. The Runners. Yoko and Kate, Ada and Felicia, Cass and Caroline. What must it be like in that Maze, searching for an exit which still eluded them after a month? Especially now that the Grievers, which had, from what I'd been told, previously only entered the Maze at night, started showing up during the day.

With these grim thoughts filling my mind, I prepared for my third night in this strange prison called the Glade, a prison whose only exit lay at the end of a Maze patrolled by monsters which had already killed four people.

* * *

I don't know how I managed to fall asleep that night, but I did, though my sleep was troubled by thoughts of Anne. I imagined her, trapped in the Maze, possibly already stung by the Griever she had drawn away from Patra, knowing more of those creatures were lurking in the corridors with her. What had gone through her mind? Had she tried to evade the Griever, or had she meekly accepted her fate? Had she been . . . afraid? I had no way of knowing, but it seemed anyone who failed to make it back to the Glade before the Doors closed had cause to be afraid.

The following morning, I had little time to think about Anne. True to their word, Harriet and Sonya saw to it that all of us were kept busy, distracting us from thoughts of what had happened over the last couple of days. Only the Screen which still concealed Patra from the rest of us served to remind us, but we all tried to avoid looking at it and the only people who went behind it were Sonya, Harriet, Indira, Flossie and Harper. They gave us regular updates on Patra's condition, enough for us to know she was recovering physically, though whether she would recover mentally was another matter.

During our lunch break, I plucked up the courage to ask Indira a question which had been on my mind for the last couple of days. "What's happening to Patra?"

She responded with a shrug. "We don't know. She's conscious now and there doesn't seem to be anything physically wrong with her. But," she went on, "there does seem to be something wrong with her mind, though we don't know what. In any case, unless she improves soon, it looks like her days as a Runner are over."

Indira's words echoed in my mind. If her prediction proved correct, it meant the Runners had now lost two of their number. Anne was dead and Patra, though still alive, had apparently gone insane. Grievers. They either took your life or they took your sanity. I did not know who had come up with the name Grievers, and I suspected the rest of the girls wouldn't be able to tell me if I asked, but it was hard to think of anything more appropriate.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, my life settled into a routine, one which consisted of me helping with various tasks around the Glade, while the remaining Runners continued to roam the Maze in search of the elusive exit. Every evening, the six of them returned with the same news they had brought the evening before, and the evening before that . . . But they didn't give up; it was as if they felt they owed it to Anne and Patra to keep trying. Despite the Medics' fears, Patra eventually recovered sufficiently to return to the Maze and Yoko, who had been elected temporary Keeper of the Runners while Patra was out of action, went back to being just another Runner.

Every week, the Box which had brought me to the Glade came loaded with supplies - seeds, building materials, sanitary towels (an essential in a place where everyone was a teenaged girl), medicines, animal feed . . . Everything we needed to keep our little community going was delivered to us by the mysterious Creators. The rule was simple: two days before that week's delivery was due, the Keepers put notes asking for the stuff they needed into the empty Box and whatever it was would be delivered, most of the time. Once, Marie, the Keeper of the Cooks, put in a request for lipstick, but none came. Clearly, the Creators were only prepared to send us essential supplies and lipstick (another thing I vaguely remembered from the world outside the Glade) wasn't considered essential in their eyes.

However, when Patra asked for weapons so that the remaining seven Runners could protect themselves in the Maze, the Box came back filled with bows and arrows, spears and knives. Enough to equip a small army, which is essentially what we were, except none of us had ever handled weapons before, as far as we remembered. All the same, Patra thought she and her fellow Runners might stand a better chance in an encounter with a Griever if they were armed. At the very least, the weapons might help to boost their confidence, which needed boosting after what had happened to Anne.

I sometimes wondered what would happen if the Grievers ever got into the Glade. One day, a month after I arrived, I put this question to Flossie, who responded with a shake of her head.

"Ain't gonna happen," she said. "The Grievers stay in the Maze, we stay in the Glade unless we're Runners and it's daytime. That's how it's always been."

"Yes, but, say the Doors didn't close one night? Wouldn't . . .?" Just then, the sound of an alarm ringing out across the Glade cut me off. "What's that?" I had not heard a sound like it in all the time I'd been here, but I remembered one of the girls saying something about an alarm when I first emerged from the Box.

"Don't know," Flossie replied. "But it's the same sound we heard when you came . . ." She paused and looked at me. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

If she was thinking that this meant another new person was about to arrive, then the answer was yes. After all, the alarm never sounded when the Box brought us supplies, but a human being was a different matter. Perhaps the Creators needed to alert us so that the person wouldn't be left in the Box to suffocate; I remembered fearing this would be my fate until I was released. In any case, Flossie and I agreed that we should take a look and headed in the direction of the Box.

* * *

We arrived to find most of the others assembled around the Box, just as they had been when I arrived. From the buzz of conversation, I gathered that they had reached the same conclusion as Flossie and myself, that the Box contained not something, but someone. Who that someone was, we had no way of knowing; we would have to wait until the Box arrived. I found myself thinking of the person inside the Box, confused and frightened, unable to remember anything personal except their first name, wondering why this had happened to them, not knowing what awaited them. The exact same feelings I had when I was in the Box.

At length, we heard the muffled boom which told us that the Box had arrived. Harriet and Sonya, who were nearest the hatch, opened it up and peered inside. Curious to see the newcomer for myself, I hurried over to the Box and joined those who had gathered around it. What I saw when I looked inside made me catch my breath. A little girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, with shoulder-length light brown hair, was crouched on the floor of the Box, sobbing. My heart immediately went out to her; she was just a child and someone had wiped her memory and sent her to this place where the only way out was through a Maze patrolled by monsters. Even Emily and Tegan weren't this young. I felt a small surge of anger at the people who had done this to her, but was distracted from it moments later by the buzz of conversation among the others.

"What have they sent us this time?" asked Harper.

"Another Pip, looks like," replied Sonya, looking up from the Box.

"Same age as Emily and Tegan?" That was Beth, the Keeper of the Gardeners, with whom Emily and Tegan (whose days as the youngest girls in the Glade were clearly over) sometimes worked.

"I'd say she's a little younger. Looks pre-teen to me," Sonya told us, agreeing, albeit unknowingly, with my estimate of the new girl's age. Of course, we had no way of knowing for sure and, if our own experiences were anything to go by, this child wouldn't be able to tell us how old she was either.

"What are we gonna do with her?" Harper again. I remembered someone - it might have been her, but I wasn't sure - asking the exact same question when I first arrived.

"Get her out of there for one thing," said Harriet. She turned to the girls nearest to her. "Victoria and Joan, go fetch the rope." As Victoria and Joan hurried off to get the rope - the same rope that had been used to get me out of the Box, I guessed - the rest of us stood looking down at the little girl. She looked up at us out of frightened blue-grey eyes which were stained with tears, clearly wondering where she was and who we were. I had wondered exactly the same thing when I first arrived. Was that really only a month ago? It felt like I had been here my whole life, even though I knew I hadn't. However, with no memories of my life before I found myself in the Box . . .

My thoughts were cut off by Victoria and Joan returning with the rope, which was lowered into the Box as Sonya called out to the girl inside to grab on. This she did, allowing herself to be hauled out of the Box and into the Glade, where she stood nervously clasping her hands. Then, she spoke, her voice trembling. "Where am I? What's going on?"

Well, we could all answer the first question pretty easily; we were in the Glade, beyond which lay the Maze, where the Runners were, as they had done every day for the past two months, looking for a way out. But, as for what was going on, why we were all in this place, none of us had the slightest idea. All we knew was that someone had wiped our memories, taking away everything except our first names, then dumped us here in the middle of a Maze.

* * *

It turned out that the little girl's name was Christie and, like the rest of us, this was the only thing she remembered about herself. Any other memories of who she was and where she had come from were lost to her; all she knew was that she had woken up to find herself in total darkness, with no recollection of her life before that moment. The exact same thing I had experienced a month ago.

At length, the group dispersed, leaving me alone with Christie. She still looked confused and frightened, making me wish I could say something to reassure her. But what could I say? I already knew enough about this place to know that we were essentially prisoners with no idea as to why we were prisoners. All we knew was that the only way out of here lay at the end of a terrifying Maze whose exit remained elusive. Every evening when the Runners returned we hoped one of them might have found something, a clue which might lead to a way out of here. Every evening, they came back with the same answer; none of them had found anything.

In the end, I decided I should at least let Christie know that I understood how she felt; after all, I'd been in the exact same situation myself. "Hey," I said, "if it helps, I know how frightening this must be for you. It was the same for me when I first came here."

She looked at me out of her blue-grey eyes. "Really?"

"Really. But I soon got used to being here and you will too. Just give it time . . ." I paused, wondering what else to say, then decided to go right ahead and introduce myself. "By the way, my name's Jenny." I already knew her name, but she didn't know mine; unlike when I first arrived, no-one had bothered to introduce everyone who had gathered around the Box. "And, of course, you're Christie," I added, knowing I was stating the obvious but unable to think of anything else to say. After all, what do you say to a ten- or eleven-year-old who's lost her memory and found herself among a group of teenagers who have suffered the same fate?


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

In the Glade, there were no seasons; in fact, the weather never changed from one day to the next. We did have a crude calendar which Harriet and Sonya had made, but it was little more than a tally of how many days had passed since the original group of thirty girls woke up to find themselves here. So the only real measure of time we had was the Box, which came once a week to deliver supplies, once a month to deliver a new person. This person was invariably a girl and she invariably had the same strange form of amnesia as the rest of us, the form which had left us with no personal memories apart from our first names, but kept our knowledge of the world intact. We had no idea where these girls were coming from; they just showed up in the Box and became part of our ever-expanding community.

Before I knew it, I had been in the Glade for almost a year. Since my arrival, ten more girls, including Christie, had been sent up in the Box, meaning there were now thirty-seven of us. That is to say, there were thirty-seven of us who were alive; but for the fact that four of us were dead, we would have totalled forty-one. In any case, I had spent nearly a year of my life in this strange place, the only home I remembered, though I longed to get back to my real home. Wherever that was . . .

Others felt the same. One day, Christie and I, who had both ended up as Medics, were helping Flossie to fold bandages, when Christie stopped and looked at me thoughtfully. "Jenny?"

"Hmm?" I said, still folding bandages.

"Do you think our parents miss us?" The expression on her face as she said those words brought home just how young she was, a child, probably eleven or twelve years old, taken from her family and thrust into a place where the only way out was through a deadly Maze, a Maze which still hadn't been solved. Once she had recovered from the initial ordeal of finding herself in the Box, Christie had turned out to be a pretty cool kid, with a friendly disposition that you couldn't help but love. And everyone in the Glade loved her as they would a little sister; she was still the youngest girl here, all those who had arrived since being at least fourteen years old, not to mention that Emily and Tegan had now outgrown their status as Pips. Anyway, as she asked if I thought our parents missed us, I saw a brief glimpse of the frightened little girl who had arrived in the Glade a month after my arrival.

"I don't know," I replied, wishing I could remember who my parents were, if I had any siblings. But I couldn't; even after almost a year, whatever was blocking my memories was still there, still stopping me from remembering all but one of the details that told me who I was. "But I suppose they must." I tried not to think of my parents, whoever they were, trying desperately to find out where I was, hoping I was all right but fearing the worst. A scenario that was surely being played out in all our families, forty (or forty-one, depending on whether or not Ada and Felicia really were sisters as I suspected) sets of parents or guardians who had had their daughters (or girls who were like daughters to them) taken from them. Not for the first time, I wondered why the Creators were doing this, why they were taking girls from their families, wiping their memories and sending them to the Glade. But there were no easy answers.

"I miss my parents," Christie said. "Or I would if I knew who they were."

* * *

For nearly a year now, the Runners had been searching for a way out of the Maze. And, every evening for nearly a year, they had returned with the same news; they had searched every inch of "that fuzzing Maze" and found no sign of anything resembling an exit. No matter how far the Runners ventured into the ever-changing corridors, most of the eight Sections into which the Maze was divided invariably led to dead ends. The only exception was Section H, which ended at a vast Cliff. And, though they spent every evening drawing up Maps of the paths each of them had taken that day, then comparing them to the paths they had taken on previous days, they had so far had no luck there either. If there was a way out of the Maze, it was expertly hidden.

To cap it all, Patra had been stung by a Griever a few months ago. Fortunately, she made it out of the Maze and the Creators had by now perfected something called Grief Serum which counteracted whatever poisons the Grievers' stings contained. But, even with the Serum, Patra became dangerously ill, with green veins of the sort Anne's corpse had been covered with bulging out all over her body, ranting and raving with delirium, and we feared she wasn't going to survive. In the end, she did, but it soon became clear that the sting had done something to her mind; she'd started having flashes of memory, had spoken of something called the Flare, but she wouldn't (or couldn't) tell us what that was. All she would say was that it was "horrible". And she hadn't been back in the Maze since, leaving Yoko to take over her position as the Keeper of the Runners.

There had been no deaths since Anne, but I had an uneasy feeling that wasn't going to last. And, on the evening of the day Christie and I talked about whether our parents missed us, my fears came true.

Yoko and Kate had emerged from the Maze together and we were waiting for the remaining four Runners. At length, Ada emerged from the South Door, but she was alone, no sign of her partner and possible sister, Felicia. This did not bode well. Sisters or not, Ada and Felicia were inseparable; in the evenings, after they returned from the Maze, they always hung out together. For one of them to return alone could only mean the other was in trouble - and we all knew what form trouble was most likely to take out in the Maze.

"Ada," Harriet said, "where's Felicia?"

"I don't know," Ada said, struggling to control her emotions. "We got separated out there. I tried to find her, but it was getting late and I had to get back to the Glade. I didn't have time to keep looking." She peered desperately into the opening from which she had just emerged as though she was hoping to see Felicia running towards us. "Hurry, Felicia!" she whispered, as if willing her partner to appear. "Those Doors'll be closing soon!"

Eventually, someone did emerge from the Maze, but it wasn't Felicia; it was Cass. She and Caroline had been Running Solo today. With Anne dead and Patra unable to return to the Maze, the only way the six remaining Runners could continue to map the whole of the Maze was for two of them to take a Door each and run the Sections which lay beyond alone. This meant each of the Runners whose turn it was to Run Solo had to do the work of two people, but the arrangement had worked so far and no-one had been trapped in the Maze since Anne. But how long could that last? Sure, we hadn't lost anyone in nearly a year, but there was no telling what might happen out in the Maze, especially if you were alone in there.

Now, four Runners had returned, leaving only Felicia and Caroline still in the Maze. We split up, some of us waiting by the South Door with Ada, while the rest of us went to stand by the West Door, through which Caroline had entered the Maze that morning. Time was running out; the Doors would begin to close at any minute and there was still no sign of the missing Runners. And, unless Felicia and Caroline could make it back to the Glade in time, their fate would be sealed . . . Suddenly, Ada bolted towards the South Door. "There's still time! Maybe I can find her!" But, before she could go back into the Maze, Harriet and Sonya grabbed her and pulled her back.

"It's no use," Harriet said, shaking her head. "You said it yourself - you'll never find her in time."

"But I can't just leave her!" The look on Ada's face was frantic as she tried to break free from the grip of our two leaders. "Felicia!" she screamed as the Doors began to close for the night. Recalling how Patra had barely made it out of the Maze on my first evening here, I willed Felicia to appear, willed her to come running up the corridor which led from the South Door to the Glade, willed her to escape with seconds to spare before the Doors closed. But it was not to be. The Doors were closing rapidly; even if Felicia appeared this very second, she would never make it to the Glade in time. And that meant she would be trapped with the Grievers.

The boom of the walls on the right of each opening making contact with their neighbours on the left echoed through the Glade, followed seconds later by Ada's despairing scream.

"FELICIA!"

* * *

Wrenching herself away from Harriet and Sonya, Ada ran towards the wall and began pounding her fists against the stone, screaming Felicia's name, tears cascading down her cheeks. But it was too late; the Doors were closed for the night and they would not reopen until tomorrow morning. And, based on what had happened the last two times someone got trapped in the Maze overnight, that meant we would almost certainly never see Felicia alive again. We had all hoped we would not lose any more people and we hadn't - until now. Since Anne was killed, the surviving Runners had always made sure to get back to the Glade well before the Doors closed. This evening, however, not all of them had made it.

At length, Harriet and Sonya went over to Ada and led her away from the wall. Sonya said something to her which included the words "there's nothing we can do now", at which point, all the fight seemed to go out of Ada. She made no attempt to resist as Harriet and Sonya propelled her towards the group of girls who were standing around, unable to do anything but watch helplessly. We all knew what fate awaited Felicia, the same fate which had already claimed Val, Connie, Linda and Anne, but there was nothing that could prevent it. All any of us could do was comfort Ada as best we could.

Harriet took charge of the situation, telling Ada to go into the Dwelling, which was now completed, and go to bed. Sleep was what she needed right now, but, after what had just happened, it was unlikely she would be able to fall asleep naturally; Flossie would prepare a sedative for her. Everyone else should assemble for what Harriet called an Emergency Meeting; the way she said those two words made it sound as though they should be capitalised. We'd had meetings before, but never an Emergency Meeting.

* * *

We assembled in the customary meeting place outside the Dwelling, watching as Harriet, Sonya and the Keepers took their places in front of us. I scanned the faces of the Keepers - Yoko of the Runners, Beth of the Gardeners, Victoria of the Farmers, Eve of the Builders, Marie of the Cooks, Joan of the Cleaners and Flossie of the Medics. They all bore the same unsmiling expression which let everyone know this was a serious meeting. And Harriet's opening words brought home just how serious it was.

"OK, listen up," she said. "We've just lost two good sticks out in the Maze. Felicia and Caroline." I gave an involuntary gasp of surprise; even though I knew about Felicia, I'd hoped Caroline had made it back to the Glade. But apparently not. "That's six of us now," Harriet went on. "Six of us, dead. Or it will be by tomorrow morning."

"How do you know?" someone called out. I couldn't see who it was. "What if Felicia and Caroline manage to survive their night in the Maze? You're gonna look a right dimmo if they're still alive when the Doors open." Like "sticks", "fuzzing" and "Pips", "dimmo" was another piece of Glade slang; it basically meant someone who was, to put it mildly, somewhat lacking in the brains department.

Harriet scanned the crowd, trying to find the girl who had spoken; like me, she was unable to pinpoint anyone. "I'll tell you how I know," she said at last, addressing everyone present. "Because, as all of you should know by now, the Grievers patrol the Maze at night. And, based on the fact that everyone else who got trapped in the Maze overnight was found dead, I'd say Felicia and Caroline's chances are pretty much non-existent. So," she added, "what's our next move?"

It was Yoko, seated on the far left of the row of Keepers, who spoke up. "I think we need more Runners." Everyone exchanged glances, wondering who would be brave (or foolish) enough to volunteer for the job and risk an encounter with the Grievers. We'd lost four people to the Grievers already and looked set to lose two more, not to mention that those of us who had survived a run-in with the Grievers had not been the same since. There were now three girls who had been through what we called the Changing: Henrietta, Patra and Martha. The latter, who arrived a few months after me, wandered into the Maze despite having been warned not to and ended up getting stung by a Griever; it was Yoko and Kate who found her and brought her back to the Glade. And Henrietta (one of Eve's Builders) had, for reasons best known to herself, ventured through the South Door; she didn't go too far in, but she did go far enough to find herself face-to-face with a Griever. She managed to escape back to the Glade, but not before the Griever had stung her. As a Medic, I was among those who watched over all three girls as they went through the Changing, a process that was every bit as horrific as it sounds. In fact, it was even worse than that; words can't begin to describe the bulging veins, the bruises and hives, the screaming. And, even when Henrietta, Patra and Martha had physically recovered from the effects of the Changing, none of them were ever quite the same again.

So, when Yoko suggested that we needed more Runners, we all wondered which of us would even consider taking on the job. An important job, but also a dangerous one; Patra was proof of that, as were Henrietta and Martha, though they had not been Runners. And then there were the four (soon to be six) girls who had been killed by the Grievers. Would anyone else want to risk venturing into the Maze when they knew what was in there?

"Just think about it," Yoko was saying. "There are only four Runners left now - we were stretched thinly enough with six. I think we need replacements. Four new Runners, at least. And there should be at least four Reserves as well, just in case something happens to any of the Runners."

"OK," Sonya said. "And how do we go about choosing these new Runners?"

"I thought the other Keepers could decide," Yoko replied. "They might know who would be suitable, who can run fast, who can keep their head in a crisis, that sort of thing."

At this point, the Keepers, Sonya and Harriet broke off for a whispered conference, leaving the rest of us milling around with not much to do except wait. None of us even considered leaving; we all knew that, when the Keepers and our two leaders conferred like this, it could only be something important. So it was best to stick around and wait to hear what they had to say.

* * *

At length, the nine girls assembled in front of us broke off their private discussion and turned to face the rest of us. "This is what we've decided," said Harriet. "Each of the Keepers will name the sticks who they think are good Runner material. Those chosen will begin training with the Runners, starting tomorrow. Yoko, of course, will be in charge of their training. And now the rest of the Keepers will tell us who they've chosen. Beth, you first."

We all wondered which of us would be named, but we didn't have long to wait before Beth told us her choice. "I nominate Sarah." It took me a moment to place Sarah, but then I remembered that she was the girl who came up in the Box two months after me. She was tall, with dark blonde hair and green eyes, probably around sixteen or seventeen, not that I had any way of knowing for sure. But I did know that she had a fair amount of stamina; she usually took care of the heavy work in the Gardens, which must be one of the reasons Beth had nominated her to be a Runner. In any case, Harriet and Sonya clearly approved of the choice because they nodded and moved on to Victoria.

"I nominate Neffy," Victoria said. Neffy, another girl who'd arrived in the Glade after me, had black hair and skin that was the same coffee colour as Cass's. I didn't think she and Cass were related though, unlike Ada and Felicia, who looked so alike . . . who _had_ looked so alike that they just had to be sisters. They were certainly very sisterly towards each other. But not any more; Felicia had been lost in the Maze, robbing Ada of the girl who was, if not her biological sister, like a sister to her. For a moment, I wondered if I had a sister somewhere in the world beyond the Glade, but I knew it was unlikely I, or any of the others, would ever find out. Unless we got out of here and someone removed whatever was blocking our memories.

In any case, I had no time to think about it because Harriet and Sonya were still polling the Keepers for the names of the girls they had chosen to be Runners. Next up was Eve, who chose Sylvia and Maggie; they were two of the original seven Builders, but that was about all I knew about them. Marie, the Keeper of the Cooks, nominated Ruth, while Joan, the Keeper of the Cleaners, chose a red-headed girl named Alison, who had been here for four months. Six names had been called now, enough for four new Runners and two Reserves. But Yoko had said we needed at least four Reserves, so that someone would be ready to replace a Runner at short notice. After what had just happened, the Runners could not afford to let their numbers drop to less than eight again.

We all looked at Flossie, wondering who she would choose. "I nominate Indira," she said. I turned to look at my friend and fellow Medic, wondering what I should say to her. Should I congratulate her on being chosen as a Runner? I knew enough by now to know that the Maze was no joke, that the dangers it contained were very real. On the other hand, I also knew the Runners were seen as a kind of elite; they were the ones who risked their lives every day, while the rest of us dealt with more mundane tasks within the Glade. But, before I could decide whether to congratulate Indira or not, Flossie spoke again.

"I also nominate Jenny."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

I stared at the closed Doors, thinking of the Maze that lay beyond them, thinking of the fact that I had been chosen to be one of those who ran the ever-changing corridors, searching for a way out. First thing tomorrow morning, Yoko would test the girls who had just been nominated to see which of them were the fittest. The best four would then join Yoko, Kate, Ada and Cass in the Maze; the others would make up the Reserves. I did not know what this test would involve, but, based on what I already knew about the Runners, I could guess it would be tough.

But not as tough as the job itself. I might never have set foot in the Maze, but I had often seen the Runners struggling to catch their breath as they emerged through the Doors. And then there were the creatures which lurked in the Maze, the Grievers. Thinking of them and what they did to their victims reminded me of the reason why new Runners were needed. Anne was dead, Patra's mind had snapped as a result of whatever it was she had seen during the Changing and, as for Felicia and Caroline, the odds were that they would soon be dead too. I shook my head, telling myself not to think about them; it wouldn't do me any good, especially when I would soon be entering the Maze myself.

In any case, I had no time to think about much before Harriet told those of us who'd been nominated as Runners to go and get some sleep. We would have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. First Yoko's tests, then, for the four who did the best on those tests, a day spent running the corridors of the Maze.

* * *

"Jenny?" Christie ventured as we all settled down for the night. "Are you scared?"

I turned in the direction of her voice; she was in the bed to the right of me, in the room we shared with three other girls, including Flossie. Well, we used to share it with three other girls, but one of them had been Caroline, whose bed was now empty. And there was another empty bed elsewhere in the Dwelling, the bed where Felicia used to sleep. Though I doubted either bed would remain empty for long; a couple of the girls who currently slept outside because there was no room in the Dwelling would probably claim them. Either that or whoever showed up in the Box next would have the luxury of an indoor sleeping spot. Not that sleeping outdoors was a problem in a place where, for some inexplicable reason, it never rained.

Anyway, I turned in the direction of Christie's voice. "No, I'm not scared," I told her. "I'm more . . . anxious." That didn't quite cover how I was feeling either, but I couldn't think of a better word. "It's that Maze, knowing what's in there, knowing that one false move and I'll end up trapped like . . ." I broke off; Caroline's empty bed was only a few feet away from me, a reminder that she and Felicia had not made it back this evening. And I already knew what happened to those who failed to return to the Glade before the Doors closed.

"You won't get trapped," Christie said. "I know you won't. You can run fast - I've seen you about the Glade."

I wished I could share her faith in me, but running in the Glade was a lot easier than running in the Maze. For one thing, there was a lot more to the Maze than simply running through the corridors. You had to keep track of where you were, which paths you had taken, what had changed since yesterday and, most importantly, what time it was so that you get back to the Glade before the Doors closed. Not to mention that you had to be constantly on the alert for Grievers. On the other hand, Christie was just a kid, a Pip to use the slang which had developed in the Glade. So maybe it would be best if I didn't point all this out.

"Thanks," I said. "I'll try my best. And," I added, not giving myself time to consider whether it was a good idea to say this or not, "I might even be the one who finds a way out of this fuzzing place, gets you back to your parents."

"Really?"

At this point, I remembered our earlier conversation, the one where Christie and I talked about whether the parents we couldn't remember missed us. Maybe they did, but we had no way of knowing if they were even still alive; for all we knew, everyone in the Glade was an orphan. "Like I said, I'll try my best," I said. There was nothing else I could say; Christie was only a child, after all.

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart," I told her. We would have carried on talking, had Flossie and our other room-mate, Golda, not told us to shut up and go to sleep.

* * *

Yoko had me, along with the other girls who had been nominated the previous evening, up before dawn, putting us through our paces. I won't go into too much detail about what we had to do, but I will say that it involved a lot of running laps around the walls. That in itself was no problem, but Yoko had deliberately put obstacles in the way, obstacles which we could barely see in the pre-dawn light, obstacles designed to impede our progress. A small hurdle which we had to jump. A set of old tyres which we had to run through without touching any of them. A net which we had to crawl under. There were a few others, but it'll take too long for me to go through them all, so I'll just say that we had to run Yoko's obstacle course while she timed us using her digital watch. When all of us had run the course twice, she called us all together.

"OK," she said. "I've been timing all of you and the four fastest times were achieved by . . ." She paused as though she was about to announce the winners in a sporting contest, albeit one whose prize was not a medal or a trophy, but a chance to enter a dangerous Maze. ". . . Sarah, Maggie, Indira and Jenny. They will be the new Runners. Ruth, Sylvia, Neffy and Alison will be the Reserves. Let's go get some breakfast, then meet in the Dwelling."

By now, the sun was up and the Doors were open. They'd started to open while Indira was running her second lap of the obstacle course, producing the same earthquake-like rumbling they made when they were closing. This was the first time I'd watched the Doors open; I'd never been up early enough before, nor had the others. The day started early in the Glade, but not this early. Perhaps Yoko, as the Keeper of the Runners, was used to getting up before dawn, but the rest of us were not and, had we not been nominated as Runners and had to be put through our paces, we would probably still be asleep now.

Anyway, we went to get breakfast at the Mess Hall which had been built a short distance from the Dwelling. Marie and her assistants (including Patra, who'd ended up as a Cook when she could no longer continue as a Runner) were standing behind the hatch, serving up plates of sausage, bacon and eggs, but, apart from Kate, Cass and Ada, no-one else was here yet. Most of the girls in the Glade wouldn't be up for at least another hour.

As I took the tray with my breakfast on it, I happened to catch Patra's eye. I looked at her for several seconds, trying to fathom what the Changing might have done to her, but she looked much the same as any other teenaged girl. Only the haunted expression on her face, an expression she shared with Henrietta and Martha, revealed otherwise. I was wondering, as I had done many times before, what could have caused that expression (something she'd seen during the Changing, no doubt) when she suddenly spoke. "You mustn't succeed."

"What?" I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

"You mustn't succeed," Patra said again. "The Maze mustn't be solved. The world outside . . . Bad . . . The Flare . . ." It seemed as though she was trying to remember something but couldn't quite recall what it was, only that it was bad.

"What do you mean?" I asked, recalling how Indira had mentioned that Patra kept talking about something called the Flare while she was recovering from the Changing. But I didn't know what that meant and, even after almost a year, I still didn't know. "Patra, what is the Flare?" The moment I asked that question, I had an uneasy feeling that I shouldn't have; for all I knew, it might trigger something in Patra, especially since she couldn't - or wouldn't - talk about it.

But she just shook her head. "I don't know," she told me. "I just remembered it while I was going through the Changing, but I can't remember what it was. I just know it's bad. The Changing brings back memories . . ." She trailed off and looked down as a tear slowly traced its way down her cheek. I could tell it would be useless to try questioning her further, so I took my tray and went to sit with Indira.

* * *

Breakfast over, Yoko and the eight of us who had been nominated as Runners met up in the Dwelling, where Yoko went over what being a Runner involved. Even though only four of us would be joining the other Runners in the Maze, she included all of us, saying it would make sure the other four were prepared for when they had to run the Maze; after what had happened to Felicia and Caroline, she wanted there to be eight active Runners at all times, plus at least four Reserves who could replace a Runner at a moment's notice. Anything less than eight Runners would result in them being stretched too thinly again, possibly leading to more of them getting trapped in the Maze - and we all knew what that meant.

Anyway, Yoko made sure to let us know what we were in for once we entered the Maze, placing particular emphasis on the need to get back to the Glade before the Doors closed, not that any of us needed reminding. "The Doors always start closing at 4:30 PM," she told us. "Every evening, without fail. So you need to be able to keep track of time while you're in the Maze." She started handing out digital watches to us, the same sort the Keepers and the Runners had. "Keep these with you at all times, especially when you're in the Maze. Your lives may depend on your being able to tell the time." She said the last few words in a tone of voice which let all of us know just how much importance she was attaching to them. "Their batteries charge as you run," she continued. "So you shouldn't have to worry about them losing power. But, if your watch gets broken, let me know and I'll put a note in the Box."

I looked down at my watch, which I had fastened around my wrist while Yoko was talking. It was the first watch I could remember wearing, a simple affair with a black plastic strap and a digital display which read 07:25. Twenty-five minutes past seven o'clock in the morning. As with so many other things, I could remember how to tell the time, but not who had taught me. Nor could I remember if I'd been wearing a watch before I woke up to find that all personal details apart from my first name had been wiped from my memory, but, if I was, the Creators must have removed it from my wrist before placing me in the Box. None of us had brought anything to the Glade apart from the clothes we were wearing when we first arrived; it was as if the Creators, not content with wiping our memories, also wanted to deprive us of anything that might give us a clue as to who we were and where we had come from.

"We'll be heading out soon," Yoko was saying. "But, before we go, the new Runners will need to be kitted out." She walked over to a nearby cupboard and opened it, pulling out several pairs of running shoes and several sports bras. "These," she said, holding up a pair of the shoes, "are what you'll be wearing on your feet while you're in the Maze; they're specially cushioned to withstand hours of running. Of course, they do wear out after a while, so I have to ask the Creators for some new pairs." The pair she was holding up looked like they were brand new, unworn. Yoko put down the shoes and picked up one of the bras. "You'll all be wearing one of these as well," she added, "to keep everything from jiggling about."

When she said that, my hands automatically strayed in the direction of my chest.

* * *

As soon as everyone was ready, the eight of us who were going to run the Maze made our way over to the Doors. Yoko had divided us into pairs, each of which consisted of one new Runner and one of the girls who had been Runners since the search for a way out of this place began, a search which still showed no sign of ending. She said it would be safer if those of us who were new to the Maze were with someone who had experience of running through those ever-changing corridors. So it was that I'd ended up paired with Ada, while Indira was with Kate, Maggie with Cass and Sarah with Yoko. I glanced across at my new running partner as we stood at the South Door, wondering what was going through her mind. After all, it was only yesterday that she'd lost Felicia, yet here she was preparing for another day in the Maze.

"Look," I said, feeling somewhat awkward, "I'm not trying to replace Felicia, so don't think I am. I'm just here to run the Maze, same as you."

Ada gave me a smile that was tinged with sadness, putting on a brave face even though she was still grieving for Felicia. "I don't think that for a moment," she told me. "And we don't dwell on things around here - you should know that by now. We've got a job to do and we're fuzzing well gonna do it." She nodded in the direction of the South Door. "It's tough out there - you'll see how tough it is - but we can't give up. The answer's in that Maze somewhere and . . ."

"But doesn't it bother you?" I asked, cutting Ada off in mid-sentence. "Going back out there after what happened yesterday?" I recalled how Ada had reacted when the Doors closed, trapping Felicia and Caroline in the Maze, how she had pounded the walls, how she had screamed Felicia's name, how Sonya and Harriet eventually had to lead her away. The hysterical girl I had seen then was a complete contrast to the calm and collected girl who was standing beside me now; it was hard to believe they were the same person.

Ada looked at me seriously. "Jenny, I'm a Runner. We're both Runners. We can't afford to waste time mourning when one of us gets killed. Besides," she added, "Felicia wouldn't want that; neither would Anne and Caroline. So we carry on and hope we succeed where they failed." There was, I noted, a slight sadness to her tone of voice that belied the matter-of-fact way in which she was phrasing what she was saying. Clearly, Ada and Felicia, even if they weren't actually related, had been like sisters to each other. But it was equally clear that Ada felt the best way to honour Felicia's memory was to carry on with the daily exploration of the Maze and hope that a solution revealed itself. "You ready to head out?" Ada asked after a while.

I nodded. The other six Runners must all be inside the Maze by now; it was time Ada and I joined them. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I told her, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. I shouldered the backpack which contained my lunch, gripped the knife I'd brought with me for protection and mentally composed myself for what lay ahead. I knew enough by now to know that the Maze was not to be fooled with, that the creatures which roamed its corridors, the Grievers, were killers. But, if Ada and I could avoid running into them during the day and made sure to get back to the Glade well before the Doors were due to close, we should be all right.

"Then let's go." And, with that, Ada and I stepped through the South Door and entered the Maze.

* * *

As soon as we were in the Maze, surrounded by its vast ivy-covered walls, Ada gave me a few words of advice. "Right," she said. "As you may have noticed, we entered the Maze through the South Door."

"Thanks for stating the obvious," I replied, allowing a hint of sarcasm to slip into my words. "I have been in the Glade almost as long as you." To be honest, though, I was trying to hide the fact that I was still a little nervous. After all, I was in a place which had already been a death trap for six other girls.

"Anyway," Ada went on, "the South Door leads to Section E. You head right to get to Section F, left for Section D." She opened her backpack and produced two notepads and two pencils, handing one of each to me. "We'll be mapping Sections E and F."

"How do we do that?" I asked, looking down at the notepad and pencil which Ada had given me. Again, as with so many things, I could remember what they were used for, but not where I'd learned this information, nor any instances where I myself had used them. I felt a familiar sense of unease; though I was now used to the gaps in my memory, I still found them disturbing.

"By making notes as we run," Ada replied. "Which corridors are blocked today, whether we have to turn left or right at a particular Junction, that sort of thing. Then, when we get back this evening, we'll use our notes to draw up today's Maps, which we'll then compare to yesterday's . . ." She trailed off and I could guess why. Because of what had happened the previous evening, yesterday's Maps for Sections E and F had not been drawn up. "But I'm getting a little ahead of myself," she added, shaking her head. "Come on. Let's go explore the Maze."

With that, she set off at a jog. As I followed her, I noticed something moving in the ivy. Looking closer, I saw that it was a strange metallic creature that looked somewhat like a multi-legged lizard. A beetle blade. I'd seen them before while I was going about my business in the Glade, but I didn't know where they came from. And nor did any of the others; they were just something that had always been here. We had a fair idea as to _why_ they were here, though. They must be keeping track of us, transmitting information to the Creators, which meant our every move was being observed. This always made me feel uneasy, so I tried to avoid beetle blades as much as possible and that, I decided right there and then, was going to include any beetle blades that were in the Maze.

Dismissing the beetle blade from my mind, I jogged after Ada, making sure to keep her in sight at all times. My first day as a Runner had begun.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Ada took the lead as we made our way through the endless corridors of the Maze, taking pebbles out of a pouch she wore round her waist and throwing them on the floor. I was curious to know what purpose this served - surely it couldn't have anything to do with finding the ever elusive exit - but we had to save our breath for running, so I didn't ask. But I did note that she was able to throw the pebbles without stopping or slowing down, a skill which she had no doubt honed with a great deal of practice. For the most part, however, I was concentrating on remembering the route we were taking, partly because we would have to retrace that route to get back to the Glade, but mostly because part of being a Runner involved drawing up Maps of the routes through the eight Sections, then comparing them to the ones from the last few days, searching for an exit we had yet to find.

Occasionally, we would pause to jot something down in our notepads, something along the lines of _Turn left at Junction 3_. Later, we would refer to these notes while we were drawing up today's Maps, but for now we continued running. We had to run, Ada told me, or we'd never finish mapping our Sections and get back to the Glade before the Doors closed, leaving us trapped. And we both knew what our fate would be if that happened; we would become prey for the Grievers.

But one thing was bothering me and, while we were taking a break for lunch, I decided to bring it up. "Ada," I said through a mouthful of cheese and ham sandwich, "do you think we'll . . ." I paused to consider what I was going to say next. "Do you think we'll ever find Felicia and Caroline?"

A look of sorrow briefly crossed her face and she sighed. "If we do, they'll be like all the others who got trapped overnight." As she said those words, I remembered that it was she and Felicia who had found Anne's body and brought it back to the Glade on my second evening in this strange prison. Knowing Felicia and Caroline had almost certainly met the same fate was a sobering reminder of the risks we were running while we were in the Maze. The Grievers were less of a threat during the day, but they did occasionally show up then, though none of us knew why. Most of us guessed the Creators sent one or two into the Maze to keep the Runners on their toes, not that we had any way of knowing for sure. What we did know, however, was that, after the Doors had closed for the night, the Grievers always came out in force - and, if you were unlucky enough to be in the Maze then, there was no escaping to the safety of the Glade.

Ada, I recalled, had taken the loss of Felicia pretty hard; they had been like sisters to each other, though I had no way of knowing if they really were sisters, just a suspicion based on the fact that they looked so similar. In any case, I decided it might be a good idea to change the subject. "So what's with the pebbles?"

"Markers," she replied. "I use them to show which paths we've taken and I pick them up as I head back at the end of the day. Then, the following day . . ."

"I think I get the idea," I said. A vague memory stirred in my mind, a story about two children who used pebbles to mark a path, only I couldn't remember what those children were called, nor where I had heard the story. My inability to remember my life before I found myself in the Box still disturbed me, but at least I had been able to build up new memories, memories of the Glade and the girls who lived there.

* * *

Lunch break over, Ada and I continued with our task of mapping Sections E and F. For over an hour, we followed path after path, only to come to a dead end every time. Eventually, by which time I had lost count of the number of dead ends we'd reached, Ada said it was time to call it a day. And so, with Ada picking up the pebbles she had used to mark the paths we had followed, we made our way back to the Glade, running non-stop until, breathing heavily and sweating with exertion, we emerged through the South Door. As usual, the others were waiting for us; I could see Flossie and Christie among the group of girls, but neither Indira (who, along with Kate, had just exited the Maze via the East Door) nor I had time to talk to them. Our next task was to draw up today's Maps for the Sections we had run.

The four of us entered the Map Room, which contained a large table with eight chairs, one for each Runner, around it; pencils and paper had been placed on the table, ready for us to use. There was nothing else in the Map Room apart from eight wooden trunks which, Ada informed me, contained the Maps which the Runners had drawn up each day. We, and the rest of the Runners when they got back, would now use the notes we had made while in the Maze to draw today's Maps, after which we would compare them to the Maps from previous days, hoping against hope that we might finally find a clue which could lead us out of here, a clue which had so far eluded us.

Out of curiosity, I turned to the nearest trunk and lifted the lid, revealing stacks of paper, all of which had part of the Maze drawn on them in pencil. The only other things the paper contained were the name of the Runner who had drawn this Map (Cass), the Section which it mapped (Section B) and the day on which it had been drawn (Day #332). So this must be Day #333, but I had no time to think about this before the remaining Runners arrived, first Yoko and Sarah, then Cass and Maggie; all four appeared slightly out of breath, not that this was unusual for Runners, but no-one had been lost in the Maze today. Even so, Yoko took a moment to check that everyone was present, then we got down to work.

The table, Yoko explained, was oriented so that each Runner sat on the side nearest to the Door which led to her particular Section; in the case of Ada and myself, this was the South Door. Yoko and Sarah were on our left, Kate and Indira on our right, Cass and Maggie directly opposite. Soon, the eight of us were hard at work translating the notes we had taken while we were in the Maze into lines on the pieces of paper in front of us, lines which we hoped would contain a clue to lead us out of this place. For several minutes, the Map Room was filled with the sound of eight pencils scratching away at eight pieces of paper, punctuated by an occasional comment from one of the original Runners about the work those new to the job were producing.

"That angle needs to be a little sharper."

"Careful, Maggie, you're gonna run out of paper."

"That crossroads was a little further in than that."

* * *

At last, however, we had all finished drawing up today's Maps. We then set to work examining them, comparing them to the Maps that had been drawn up over the last few days, trying to find some kind of pattern in the wall movements that might serve as a clue to get us out of here. But, no matter how hard we looked, we couldn't make anything out and the fact that none of us had the faintest idea what we were supposed to be looking for didn't exactly help. At one point, Indira suggested turning the Maps upside down, so we did; this didn't reveal anything either and neither did turning the Maps sideways. Whatever clues lay hidden in the ever-changing walls of the Maze continued to elude us.

"Maybe if we arrange them in alphabetical order . . ." suggested Maggie. But Yoko shook her head.

"We've tried that before and we've tried reverse alphabetical order as well, but it didn't tell us anything. So we concluded that ordering the Maps wasn't the solution." She looked down at the Map she had just drawn, as though she was willing the answer to the problem which dominated the lives of everyone in the Glade, but especially the Runners, to leap out at her. For want of anything better to do, I followed her example with my Map, but, no matter how hard I looked at it, I could see nothing that might serve as the clue we needed.

"But there is a solution?" I ventured, speaking for the first time since we'd started drawing our Maps. I directed my question towards Yoko, but it was Kate who answered.

"Oh, yes. There's a solution, all right - we just have to find it."

"And I don't think we're gonna find it tonight," said Yoko. She turned to the trunk behind her chair. "Time we called it a night," she added, placing the small pile of Maps she had been examining in the trunk with the others for Section H, the Section which ended at a vast Cliff. "Put your Maps in the trunks and go get something to eat," she told the rest of us. "I'll lock up."

As I placed my Map in the trunk which contained the Maps for Section F, a sobering thought occurred to me. For almost a year, the Runners had spent every day in the Maze, mapping it in the hope of finding the exit, but they had so far found nothing, nothing useful at any rate. Not only that, three of them had died and a fourth had gone insane because of the creatures which roamed the ever-changing corridors, the creatures we called Grievers. I'd never seen one, but I had an uneasy feeling it was only a question of time before I did. Especially since I would have to go back out there tomorrow.

* * *

My second day as a Runner was much the same as the first, as was the third, then the fourth, then the fifth . . . and so on. Get up at the crack of dawn, spend the day mapping Sections E and F with Ada, return to the Glade before the Doors close, draw up the day's Maps, compare said Maps to the ones from the last few days in the hope of finding a means of escaping from this place. Every evening, the other Runners and I left the Map Room having failed yet again to find a solution. But we never gave up; there was always the hope, no matter how remote, that each day's Maps might provide the answer we were looking for. So we continued to run the Maze, just as the rest of the girls continued with their tasks in the Glade.

Before I knew it, I'd been a Runner for a year, a year during which life in the Glade continued much as it always had. Every week, the Box came with supplies. Every month, it brought a new addition to our little community of girls. There had been no major incidents since we lost Felicia and Caroline - their bodies were never found, so we erected a couple of markers with their names in the graveyard - until, that is, two of us tried to escape via the Box Hole.

It was early evening. The rest of the Runners and I had just returned from the Maze to find everyone grouped around the spot where the Box made its deliveries; the hatch was wide open and several girls were peering down into the blackness. I wondered what was going on. Today wasn't a scheduled delivery day, so what was everyone doing gathered around the Box Hole? And, if there was no delivery due, why was the hatch open? I had a very bad feeling about this.

"What's going on over there?" I asked Ada, who responded with a shrug. She clearly had no more idea than I did and the same was true of the rest of the Runners. My curiosity piqued, I hurried over to Christie, who was among those peering into the Box Hole, and repeated the question I had just asked Ada. I had a feeling she and the other non-Runners might know something those of us who had spent the day in the Maze did not.

She looked at me seriously. "It's Hayley and Astrid," she replied. Hayley and Astrid were two girls who'd arrived in consequetive months; they were among Eve's team of Builders and were firm friends who did everything together. "They're trying to get out through the Box Hole."

"But I thought you couldn't get out that way." I remembered what I'd been told on my first day in the Glade about how two girls had once tried to get out by climbing into the Box after it had delivered the first batch of supplies, only to find that the Box wouldn't go down as long as there was anyone in it. And every girl who'd come up in the Box since had been told the same story, a story which had deterred anyone from attempting to get out of the Glade the same way they got in - until now.

"You can't," said Flossie, who was also among those gathered around the Box Hole. "Not in the Box anyway. But Hayley and Astrid had an idea to try climbing down when the Box wasn't here, made rope ladders and everything." She pointed to the open hatch doors, to which someone had attached a couple of home-made ladders. "They said they were tired of waiting for the Runners to solve the Maze - no offence to you and Indira - and wanted to try and find another way out."

I looked down into the Box Hole, trying to make out Hayley and Astrid, but all I could see was blackness, broken only by the faint gleam of flashlights carried by the two girls. They were already about three metres down, but there was no way of telling how far they had to go to reach the bottom. The journey to the Glade seemed to last a very long time, but none of us knew how long it took in reality. Hayley and Astrid could be almost at the bottom or they could still have another hundred metres to go. In any case, I had no time to think about it before a scream issued forth from the Box Hole, a scream which was abruptly cut off. And that could only mean something terrible had happened to one of the two would-be escapees.

"Astrid!" Hayley screamed from the depths of the Box Hole. Her friend's name, yelled in the anguished tone of a person who has just seen someone die a horrible death was the last word she ever uttered.

* * *

Harriet and Sonya came hurrying over, shouting at the girls gathered around the Box Hole to move aside. We did so without question; none of us needed anyone to tell us that whatever had just happened to Hayley and Astrid was not pretty. But I don't think any of us were prepared for what followed. Our two leaders knelt beside the Box Hole and pulled up the rope ladders to which Hayley and Astrid were still clinging. To be more accurate, half of Hayley and Astrid were clinging to the ladders; there was nothing left of either of them from the waist downwards. Something in the Box Hole had sliced them in two as easily as a hot knife slices through butter.

I won't go into details about how those two half-corpses looked. I'll just say that it was horrible, by far the worst thing I'd seen since arriving in the Glade. In fact, it was so horrible that I had to make a dash for a nearby stand of trees, where I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the ground. Afterwards, I leaned against a tree, breathing heavily and trying to get the image of what I'd just seen out of my mind. Hayley and Astrid were dead, their bodies sliced in two by something hidden in the depths of the Box Hole, waiting perhaps for someone to try the same stunt they had just attempted. A trap laid by the Creators no doubt, a trap designed to deter anyone from trying to use the Box Hole as an escape route. Which meant the only way out was through the Maze, which still remained unsolved.

I slumped down on the ground, hugging my knees. I barely knew Hayley and Astrid, but the nature of their deaths still shocked me, as did the realisation that any further attempts to escape via the Box Hole would end the same way. There were now eight girls on the list of the dead, six killed by Grievers in the Maze, two sliced in half attempting to use what had, until now, been the only other possible escape route. But not any more; we now knew that getting out of here by climbing down the Box Hole wasn't an option - unless you wanted to end up like Hayley and Astrid.

"Jenny?"

I looked up at the sound of my name to see Indira standing there, a look of concern on her face. "Hey," she said, kneeling down beside me. "Are you OK?"

"It's just . . ." I hesitated for several seconds. ". . . seeing what happened to Hayley and Astrid. Who could dream up such a horrible trap? And to use it to kill kids . . ." Not for the first time, I found myself questioning the motives of the ones we called the Creators, the ones who had taken us from our families, wiped our memories and sent us to this place. They obviously didn't want to make it easy for us to escape, but I hadn't expected them to go the lengths of rigging a trap which sliced people in two. Nevertheless, that was exactly what they had done and, as a result, we had lost two more members of our little community. First Val, Connie and Linda, then Anne, then Felicia and Caroline, now Hayley and Astrid. How many more of us would die before we found a way out of this fuzzing place?

"I don't know," Indira told me. "But it means there's only one way out of here . . ."

"The Maze," I added, guessing what she was going to say next.

She nodded. "Right. And that means we'll have to keep on mapping it until we find an exit. Come on." With that, she got to her feet and headed in the direction of the Map Room. Needing the distraction of drawing up today's Map for Section F to get my mind off what I had just witnessed, I followed her.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"What time do you make it?"

I checked my watch. "14:30. We'd better start heading back as soon as we've reached the end of this passage."

Ada and I were in the Maze, mapping the ever-changing corridors of Sections E and F as we did every day. We had followed most of the passages to their inevitable dead ends, meaning we now had just one passage left to explore, but not much time to do it in. The need to get back to the Glade before the Doors closed was ingrained in all the Runners, reinforced by the knowledge that anyone who failed to make it would be spending the night with the Grievers. And that was something no-one had ever survived, though we hadn't lost anyone to the Grievers since Felicia and Caroline. Even so, the Grievers were never far from our thoughts as we explored each passage in turn, hoping against hope that today might be the day an exit revealed itself. So far, we had had no luck; only the knowledge that there was no other way out of here kept us from giving up.

For a moment, my thoughts strayed to Hayley and Astrid. It was now three months since their ill-fated escape attempt, which had ended with both of them being sliced in two; we buried their upper bodies in the graveyard, but we never recovered the rest of them. Apart from anything else, there was no way we could do so without climbing into the Box Hole - and we had just seen for ourselves the consequences of doing so. As a warning to any future additions to our little community who might be tempted to try the same stunt, Sonya had painted a skull and crossbones on the hatch doors, along with the words:

 _Try to get out the way you got in and you won't live to regret it!_

So far, the warning seemed to be working and no-one else had attempted to escape via the Box Hole. The only way out of here was through the Maze, but, after more than two years, a solution still hadn't presented itself; the only thing remotely resembling an exit was the Cliff and none of us were prepared to risk our necks jumping off it. That was why we Runners continued to explore the Maze every day, searching in vain for any clues which might lead us to the exit. As yet, the only clue we'd found was the fact that the layout of each Section went through some kind of cycle, with the Maps repeating themselves every few weeks, but we couldn't see how that was going to help us. All we knew was that it had to mean something and, until we could figure out what that something was, we would have to carry on mapping the Maze.

"Hey, Jenny!" Ada called from up ahead. "Try to keep up!"

Realising I'd slowed almost to a standstill, I hurried to catch up with my partner. It was never a good idea to get separated in the Maze, something I knew Ada knew all too well; that was how she came to lose Felicia, though she'd never told me precisely what happened and I'd decided it would be better not to ask. Anyway, I put on a bit of speed and soon drew level with Ada once again, reminding myself that we had less than two hours to get back to the Glade before the Doors started to close. One more passage, then we would have to start making our way back.

* * *

"That's it," said Ada, as we reached the last dead end of the day. "Let's go back."

I nodded in agreement and we turned to head back down the passage. Only, we couldn't. Something was heading towards us, something which resembled a giant slug: a Griever. Aside from the one I saw through the window on my first night in the Glade, I'd glimpsed these creatures occasionally while I was running in the Maze, but only from a distance; this was the first time I'd been face-to-face with a Griever and I immediately understood why everyone was so frightened of them. Never in my worst nightmares (those I'd had since coming to the Glade, at least) had I imagined a creature like this, a creature whose slimy body had metal spikes protruding from it, along with several arms, each of which was tipped with a tool of some sort. I saw a flashlight, a hacksaw, a pair of garden shears, even an axe . . .

The Griever had no visible eyes, but I knew it could somehow see us; at the very least, it was aware of our presence. And it immediately homed in on us, retracting its spikes and appendages into its body and starting to roll down the passage towards us. I could hear the whirring saw blade sound it made as it rolled, a sound which made me wonder what it would be like to be sliced in two. Which in turn reminded me of Hayley and Astrid, but I had no time to think about them before the Griever caught up with us. Before we could take any kind of action, it lashed out with one of its appendages, which was topped with a sickle blade, stabbing Ada right in the stomach. It withdrew the blade immediately, but I knew without having to be told that the damage had been done.

Still alive, but with her life ebbing fast, Ada looked down at the wound in her lower torso, an expression of disbelief on her face as the blood soaked through her clothes and she fell to her knees. "Jenny . . ." she gasped, struggling for each word. "Run . . . Save . . . your . . . self . . ." That was all she could get out before she expired right before my eyes. The Griever immediately engulfed her, but I had no wish to watch what it did next, though I could guess. This must be why Felicia and Caroline's bodies had never been found, why there was nothing left of Val and Connie except a few scraps. The thought of it sickened me, but I couldn't think about that right now; I had to get out of here while the Griever was distracted.

I ran like I had never run before, not looking back, not stopping for anything. My mind was focused on one thing and one thing only; I had to get out of the Maze before the Griever finished with Ada and came after me.

* * *

In all the time I had been a Runner, I had never been so glad to see the light at the end of the passage which led from Section E to the Glade. Of course, seeing it always brought me a sense of relief - it meant that I'd made it, that I'd survived to run the Maze another day - but, after what I'd just seen, that light was especially welcoming. I put on a final burst of speed and soon emerged into the Glade, bent double and gasping for breath, as several of the girls who'd been working nearby gathered around me. But I'd been running so hard, had witnessed something so horrific, that I couldn't focus on who any of them were.

"Jenny?" I heard someone say. I think it was Harriet, but I'm not sure. Like I said, my mind wasn't focusing properly at that moment. "What happened in there? Where's Ada?"

"A . . . Griever!" I gasped out, feeling my lungs heaving with each breath. "A . . . Griever . . . got . . . her! She's . . . dead! I . . . ran . . . I . . . ran . . ." I couldn't complete my sentence. Exhausted and suffering from shock, I collapsed, falling unconscious to the ground.

* * *

The next thing I remember is waking up to find myself in my bed in the Dwelling, with Flossie, Indira and Christie gathered around me and Yoko standing in the doorway. Night had fallen, but I couldn't tell how long I had slept. It might be hours or days since Ada and I encountered the Griever, since Ada . . . But, before I could ask how long it had been, Yoko answered my question for me.

"About time you woke up. Do you realise you've been asleep for over twenty-four hours?" She walked over to join my three friends around my bed. "I guess you can be excused, though, after what happened yesterday. And you're also excused from running the Maze for a couple of days. Medic's orders," she added, turning to Flossie. "You were lucky that Griever didn't sting you."

"Well, I think it was too . . . busy with Ada." My voice faded to a barely audible whisper as I said the last three words. I knew people had been killed by Grievers before, though this was the first time I'd actually seen it happen. But one thing didn't add up. I'd thought the Grievers only killed those unlucky enough to be trapped in the Maze after the Doors closed, but there had been nearly two hours to go when Ada was attacked; she had time to get back to the Glade and get the Grief Serum. So why had things played out differently this time? Why had the Griever killed Ada instead of just stinging her? I put both questions to Yoko, who responded by shrugging her shoulders.

"Who knows? One of the Creators' sick games, perhaps. Anyway, like I said, you need a break from the Maze. I've assigned Indira and Ruth to the Sections you and Ada were mapping and Neffy will be Kate's new partner. You'll still be a Runner, though, so you'll be able to return to the Maze when you feel up to it."

As I looked at her, it suddenly struck me that, of the original eight Runners, she, Cass and Kate were the only ones left. Anne, Felicia, Caroline and Ada had all been killed by Grievers and Patra had been so badly damaged by whatever she had seen during the Changing that it ended her career as a Runner. Just for a moment, I wondered which of the remaining three would be the next to go, but I quickly dismissed the thought. I'd learned, as had all of us, not to dwell on things; it didn't help anyone, least of all those we'd already lost. All we could do was keep going and hope that, if and when an exit was found, some of us would be alive to use it.

"Sure," I said, smiling at Yoko. "And thanks."

* * *

The following day, I ended up working with Flossie and the Medics, which had been my job before I became a Runner. Including Flossie, there were now five Medics, the other four being Harper, Christie, Susan and Trix, to take care of the health needs of the Glade. For the most part, this involved dealing with minor injuries, such as removing a splinter from Golda's hand, or cleaning and dressing a cut which Tegan picked up while working in the Garden. That is until, around mid-afternoon, Cass emerged from the Maze, followed by Maggie, the latter supporting someone who could barely stand upright. As they drew level with me, I saw who the girl being supported was: Beth, the Keeper of the Gardeners. But what had she been doing in the Maze?

"What . . .?" I began. But Cass cut me short.

"We don't know - we just found her in there." She nodded in the direction of the North Door, through which she, Maggie and Beth had just emerged. "She says a Griever stung her, but she managed to get away and was trying to find a way out. So we decided . . ."

It was my turn to interrupt someone in mid-sentence. "You did the right thing. But we'd better hurry." Beth looked like she might collapse at any moment; her skin had that sickly paleness which meant whatever poisons a Griever's sting contained were already working their way through her bloodstream. I'd seen it before with Patra, Henrietta and Martha. Time was of the essence; if Beth was to stand any chance of surviving, she had to be given the Grief Serum as soon as possible. I knew Flossie kept a supply of Grief Serum in her medical kit, though she hadn't needed it for a while - until now. "You two help Beth," I said to Cass and Maggie. "I'll go on ahead and tell Flossie what happened."

As I hurried towards the Dwelling, one question dominated my mind. Why was Beth in the Maze? She knew, as did everyone in the Glade, that anyone who was not a Runner was not allowed to venture through the Doors under any circumstances. We were only too aware that the Maze was dangerous, that the creatures which roamed its corridors had killed seven people and caused three more to go through the horrific process we called the Changing. In fact, this rule was so well understood that, in all the time we'd been here, Henrietta and Martha were the only ones who had broken it and everyone knew what had happened to them as a result. So what had possessed Beth to go out there, especially when the most recent fatality in the Maze had only happened two days ago?

The most recent fatality. That would be Ada, my former partner, who had been killed by a Griever right before my eyes. It might even have been the same Griever which had stung Beth, not that it mattered. All that mattered was that, even though Ada was dead and, if not buried, at least commemorated with a wooden grave marker bearing her name, Beth was alive. Beth was going to get the Grief Serum and go through the Changing, after which I had a feeling she would have some explaining to do.

* * *

I won't go into details about what it was like watching Beth go through the Changing. I'll just say it took her three days to come out of it, by which time I had returned to the Maze with Indira as my new partner. Neffy was now Kate's full-time partner, but Ruth had rejoined the Reserves, who now included a girl named Isabella among their ranks, ready to be called on should another Runner die or otherwise be prevented from continuing in the most important, but also the most dangerous, occupation available to those to whom the Glade was both a home and a prison.

A couple of days later, Indira and I had just emerged from the Maze - we were the first ones back - when Harriet and Sonya approached us. "Hurry up with your map-making," Harriet told us in a tone which said this was really important. "We're holding an Emergency Meeting soon and I want everyone to be there."

Indira and I exchanged glances, neither of us needing to be told the reason for this Emergency Meeting; it must be to do with Beth. There could be little doubt that she would be in serious trouble for going into the Maze when she knew it was forbidden to everyone who wasn't a Runner, especially if she couldn't explain her reasons for doing so. As a veteran of this place, one of the original group of thirty girls, she was well aware that the rule which placed the Maze off limits to non-Runners was there for a reason.

At length, the other six Runners - Kate and Neffy, Cass and Maggie, Yoko and Sarah - emerged from the Maze to be told the same news Indira and I had been told. As we entered the Map Room, I found myself wondering what was going to happen to Beth. I didn't know her all that well, but she'd always seemed like a pretty level-headed stick, not someone who was given to rash actions - and running into the Maze without being prepared for it was about the most rash action you could take around here. Nevertheless, running into the Maze was exactly what she had done and she would soon have to face the consequences, whatever they may be.

* * *

Once we had finished drawing up the day's Maps and spent some time comparing them to those from the last few days - no sign of any exits - the rest of the Runners and I assembled outside the Dwelling with the other girls. As usual, Harriet, Sonya and the Keepers took their places in front of us, but there was one crucial difference this time; Beth's place among the Keepers had been taken by a girl named Helen, who had been acting as the Keeper of the Gardeners while Beth was incapacitated. Beth herself also stood in front of everyone, looking totally subdued but otherwise showing no sign that she had been through the Changing. For a moment, I wondered what she might have remembered, not that I was likely to find out; Henrietta, Patra and Martha wouldn't (or couldn't) talk about what they'd seen during the Changing and I doubted Beth would be any different.

In any case, Harriet had already opened the Meeting. "Beth," she said, turning to the girl who bore the name she had just spoken, "you are charged with breaking our most important rule. You are not a Runner, or even a Reserve. However, five days ago, you entered the Maze and, as a direct result, were stung by a Griever. It is only thanks to Cass and Maggie, not to mention the prompt actions of the Medics, that you are standing here now."

"What do you have to say for yourself?" added Sonya, folding her arms and fixing Beth with a penetrating stare.

"I - I don't know," Beth stammered. "I honestly don't know what came over me. It was as if I was being controlled somehow. Like a puppet or something. I didn't even realise I'd entered the Maze until I was well inside it . . ." She trailed off at this point and shook her head as if she was beginning to doubt her own story. And I could hardly blame her, given how thin and lacking in detail it was, though that was probably down to the fact that she'd recently been through the Changing, something I knew did strange things to people's minds.

"Does she take us for a bunch of dimmos?" I heard someone remark beside me. "All that crap about being controlled."

Harriet and Sonya ignored the interruption and continued questioning Beth. It was Harriet who posed the next question. "What did you do when you realised you were in the Maze?"

"I . . ." Another pause as Beth tried to get her story straight in her mind. "I tried to find my way out, but I couldn't. Then I saw the Griever; it stung me, but I managed to get away. Cass and Maggie . . ."

"Yes, we know what happened," Harriet said, holding up her hand to let Beth know she had heard enough. "Cass and Maggie found you and brought you back to the Glade, where you were given the Grief Serum and went through the Changing. But that doesn't explain why you entered the Maze in the first place. Especially when you knew one of the Runners had died in there only two days earlier."

"I told you!" Beth's voice had risen in pitch as though she was desperately trying to protest her innocence to a jury which had already found her guilty. "Something was controlling me! I couldn't help it! I . . ." At this point, Harriet held up her hand for silence once more and whichever word Beth was going to say next died on her lips.

"We only have your word for it that you were being controlled," Harriet said. "But, whether you're telling the truth or not, the fact remains that you shouldn't have been in the Maze. And rule-breakers must be punished," she added, turning to Sonya and the Keepers. "Any ideas?"

I didn't pay much attention to the debate which followed, but I heard enough to know that, of the seven Keepers, Victoria and Marie thought Beth should be sent back into the Maze just before the Doors closed, leaving her trapped with the Grievers. Yoko and Joan argued that being stung by a Griever and going through the Changing was punishment enough, so no further action should be taken; that had been the verdict with both Henrietta and Martha. The others, however, felt some form of sanction was necessary, especially since Beth was still technically the Keeper of the Gardeners and, as such, was in a position of authority; punishing her would therefore serve as an example to others. In the end, Harriet emerged to announce that a decision had been reached.

"Beth," she said, "for breaking our most important rule, you will be sent to the Sin Bin for two days." The Sin Bin was a small building, a shed basically, that contained a single room and had bars over its tiny window; it served as a jail, though it was empty most of the time since we rarely had cause to use it. "And, because your actions show you can no longer be trusted to be the Keeper of the Gardeners, you are also Demoted as of now. This is the final decision of the Keepers, Sonya and myself." She nodded towards Eve and Joan, the two Keepers nearest to her, who got up and walked over to Beth, their fellow Keeper until a few seconds ago, but now a rule-breaker about to face her punishment. Taking hold of Beth's arms, Eve and Joan began to lead her away, followed by Harriet and Sonya.

* * *

Things soon settled back into their usual routine, with all the girls in the Glade going about their business. Helen was chosen to be Beth's permanent replacement as the Keeper of the Gardeners, with Beth continuing to work under the girl she had once supervised. Beth never said anything, but I could tell from the way she always looked at Helen from then on that her Demotion rankled. But it had to be done. The Keepers were second only to Harriet and Sonya in terms of authority; they were supposed to set an example to the rest of us. And, regardless of whether her story about being controlled was true or not, Beth had fallen short of what was expected.

The Box continued to make its weekly deliveries of supplies and its monthly deliveries of amnesiac girls. Bianca, a Pip of around thirteen years old with blonde hair in a braid down her back, came up nearly two weeks after Beth was Demoted, followed a month later by a brown-haired fifteen- or sixteen-year-old named Hillary. In total, fifty-eight girls, forty-nine of whom were still alive, had now been sent to the Glade for a purpose we still didn't understand even after more than two years. All any of us knew was that our only way out of here was through the Maze, but my fellow Runners and I were no nearer to solving it than the original eight Runners (Patra, Anne, Yoko, Kate, Ada, Felicia, Caroline and Cass) had been at the beginning. Not knowing what else to do, we continued to map the Maze, searching for a solution that had yet to reveal itself.

And we continued like that until Rachel and Aris arrived.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

I was in the Maze with the other Runners when Rachel came up in the Box; we returned to find everyone gathered around a girl we had never seen before, as far as we could recall, which for most of us meant however long we had been in the Glade. But those of us who had been through the Changing were different. Henrietta, Patra, Martha and Beth had all regained some of their memories, though, from what I'd seen, those memories were at best hazy; they all spoke of remembering "bad things" like the Flare, but they were unable to provide any details. And no-one, not even the four who'd found themselves on the wrong end of a Griever's sting, recognised anyone who came up in the Box - until Rachel arrived.

The other Runners and I had just finished our business in the Map Room and emerged to find Beth standing almost nose-to-nose with the newest addition to the Glade, yelling at her. I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop, but, with the way Beth was shouting, I couldn't help overhearing.

"Don't act all fuzzing innocent with me! I've been through the Changing and I saw you! You're with them!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," protested the new girl, whose name was unknown to me at that point. She was of average height and appeared to be around fifteen to seventeen years old, with dark skin and short, tightly curled hair. In short, not much different from the other girls in the Glade. "I can't remember anything before I woke up in that Box."

"The Creators!" Beth shouted at her. "The sticks who sent us here! And now they've sent you to take us home, where we'll all live happily ever after!" She gave a derisive laugh. "I don't think so! There's no such thing as "happily ever after"! The Flare . . . The Flare . . ." For some reason, she was unable to complete her sentence; she just kept repeating the same two words over and over. I'd seen this before, with all of those who'd been through the Changing, but the new girl obviously hadn't.

"Are you all right?" she asked, genuine concern showing on her face. It was clear that she didn't understand the reason behind Beth's outburst. Neither did I, come to that. Changing or no Changing, Beth had never made wild accusations against anyone until now; nor had Henrietta, Patra and Martha. But this girl, the fifty-ninth person to be sent to the Glade, seemed to have triggered something in Beth, causing her to turn on her for no apparent reason.

Beth gave the newcomer a shove, sending her sprawling on the ground. "Get away from me! You're evil! Bad! You should be thrown down the Box Hole! You . . ." She broke off suddenly as she glanced round to see several people, including Harriet and Sonya, standing there, watching with open mouths as she ranted and raved at our newest addition. Without saying a word, Harriet and Sonya stepped forward and, taking hold of Beth's arms, led her away. Beth struggled to get free and go after her victim once more, but our leaders' only response was to tighten their grip.

"That's enough!" Harriet said. "Rachel was sent here, same as you, me and everyone else in this fuzzing place. I don't know what connection you had, or _think_ you had, with her before, but she's one of us now whether you like it or not. And you will leave her alone, unless you want to spend the next month in the Sin Bin. Is that clear?"

Beth nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. But it seemed even a reluctant nod was better than no nod at all where Harriet was concerned because she and Sonya immediately released their grip on Beth's arms. Beth walked away without looking back, leaving the new girl (Rachel, according to Harriet) standing there speechlessly, a look of utter astonishment on her face. And I couldn't blame her; it was bad enough that she'd had her memory wiped and been sent to this place, but to have someone accuse her of being in league with the people running this whole set-up . . .

* * *

Carrying the tray containing my evening meal, I was on my way to join Indira, Flossie and Christie when I spotted Rachel about to sit down at a table on her own. "Hey!" I called across to her. "Wanna join me and my friends?" She hesitated, the memory of Beth's outburst clearly fresh in her mind; it was equally clear that the incident had made her reluctant to approach the other girls in the Glade. "Come on," I told her. "We won't bite."

In the end, Rachel agreed to accept my offer, probably the first friendly gesture she had received since arriving in the Glade, and followed me to the table where my three friends were already seated. It was at the far end of the Mess Hall, so we had to pass quite a few people to get there; this included Beth, who glowered at Rachel, but didn't say anything since Harriet and Sonya were at the same table and she wasn't about to risk seeing if Harriet would make good on her promise to send her to the Sin Bin if she bothered Rachel again. I told Rachel to ignore her. "Most of us are OK round here," I said. "It's just the ones who've been through the Changing who are . . . different."

"That's what she called it." Rachel nodded in Beth's direction, then quickly looked away. "But what does it mean?"

Describing what happens to someone who's going through the Changing is a sure fire way of putting people off their dinner, so I just told Rachel that a few of the girls, including Beth, had been stung by creatures which roamed the Maze and it had done strange things to them, changed them. None of us knew much about the Changing apart from the four who'd been through it already and they wouldn't (or couldn't) talk about it, but it somehow brought back fragments of memory. However, no-one knew what caused the changes in behaviour that went with the process. Flossie had a theory that it was something to do with whatever had caused us to lose our memories in the first place, but it was just a theory, nothing more.

* * *

Not long after this, the two of us joined my friends at their table. As we tucked into the roast lamb and seasonal vegetables which Marie and her Cooks had prepared, my friends and I told Rachel about ourselves, how Indira and Flossie had been among the first girls sent to the Glade, how I arrived a month later, how Christie came a month after that. We also talked about our jobs, explaining that Flossie and Christie were Medics, while Indira and I used to be Medics but had later become Runners.

"What's a Runner?" asked Rachel, an expression of intense curiosity etched on her face.

"It's what we do," I said, nodding towards Indira. "You see, we're in the middle of a huge Maze and we're looking for the way out." I glossed over the fact that, even after more than two years, we'd had no luck finding an exit; Rachel would find that out for herself soon enough. "The Runners are the ones who map the Maze, but it's not easy because the walls move every night. Same time as when the Doors close," I added, recalling how surprised I had been when I first saw those impossibly tall stone walls start to move. By now, I was so used to seeing it happen that I hardly took any notice; it was just part of our daily routine and I had long ago ceased to think about what kind of mechanism might lie behind it. Like everyone else in the Glade, I was just grateful that the Doors closed without fail at the end of each day, protecting us from the horrors that roamed the Maze after hours.

"Weird," Rachel said after a while.

My friends and I looked at her. "What's weird?" Christie asked, her mouth full of food.

Rachel paused for several seconds before replying. "I don't know. I just had a sudden . . . feeling that I've been here before. All this seems familiar somehow." She looked at each of us in turn, as though she was studying us, trying to figure out what made us tick. "Have any of you ever felt like that?" she asked after a while.

We shook our heads. "No," I said. In all the time I'd been here, I'd never once experienced even a flash of deja vu, never sensed that I'd somehow been in this place before I was sent up in the Box. Everything that had happened to me before I woke up to find myself in total darkness had been wiped from my memory; even now, I could recall facts about the world, but not how and where I had learned that information, nor how it related to me as a person. And I'd long since given up trying to remember, choosing to focus on building new memories, memories of the Glade and the girls to whom it was both a home and a prison. Admittedly not all of those memories were pleasant, but at least I had memories now, which was more than I'd had when I first arrived.

With Rachel, however, things seemed to be different. She'd said she felt as though she'd been here before, though she was unable to elaborate when we asked her what she meant by that. Perhaps the Creators hadn't been as thorough with her memory wipe for some reason and a few traces had been left behind, though that didn't explain why she'd said this place seemed familiar. Unless Beth's allegations had some basis in fact and Rachel was indeed involved with the Creators in some way. Which she might well be; there was no way of knowing since her memory loss made it impossible for her to confirm or deny this.

I immediately dismissed the idea. As Harriet had said earlier, Rachel had been sent here just like everyone else; she was no different from the rest of us. She was just another teenaged girl who'd been taken from her family and had her memory wiped of all personal information except her first name, before being sent to the Glade. Whether she'd been involved with the Creators or not didn't matter; she was one of us now, for better or for worse. It was probably best to regard Beth's accusations as the ravings of someone who'd been through the Changing and was still suffering from the lingering effects.

In any case, Rachel had just found another question to ask. "So how do you become a Runner?"

That at least steered our conversation away from the tricky subject of whether or not we'd ever had any flashes of memory that might suggest we'd been in the Glade before we arrived in the Box. "You need to prove yourself," I replied. "If you do, one of the Keepers might recommend you to Yoko - she's the Keeper of the Runners. But not many sticks make the grade and it can be dangerous out in the Maze. People have died in there," I added. "Either that or they've been stung by the Grievers - they're the creatures I told you about - and gone through the Changing. And you've seen what that did to Beth." I meant this to be a warning to Rachel that she might want to put any ambitions she might have of becoming a Runner on hold, at least for a while. Instead, it served as a catalyst for a series of questions which kept Indira and myself up long after everyone else had gone to bed.

* * *

The next day began like any other. After eating our breakfast in the Mess Hall, the other Runners and I entered the Maze and began another day's worth of running through those ever-changing passages, searching for the exit which continued to elude us. At the end of the day, we returned to the Glade and entered the Map Room, where we set to work drawing up the day's Maps. This was followed by the usual routine of examining our efforts and comparing them to the Maps we'd drawn over the last few days, hoping there might, just might, be a pattern to the way in which the walls moved. We'd concluded long ago that something about those movements had to be significant, but we couldn't figure out what it was and we had no more luck that evening than we'd had on previous occasions. Finally, we decided to call it a night and hope we'd have better luck tomorrow. Just as we'd done the evening before, and the evening before that . . .

As usual, Yoko was the last of the Runners to leave the Map Room. She was just locking the door when the alarm suddenly rang out across the Glade, causing all of us to look round with a start. We knew what that loud clanging meant, even though, barring the odd late arrival, we were usually out in the Maze when the alarm went off; some poor kid was being sent up in the Box, scared and alone, robbed of all personal memories except their first name. But, after the initial group of thirty, the Creators had always sent one person a month. Rachel had only arrived yesterday, so why was the alarm ringing now? There was only one way to find out.

"Let's get over there!" I called to Indira and Cass, the two Runners nearest to me. We started running in the direction of the Box, followed by the other Runners, arriving to find several girls grouped around the hatch. From the buzz of conversation among them, I gathered that they didn't know what to make of this new development.

"What's going on?"

"Have the Creators changed the schedule? Is it gonna be one new stick per _day_ now?"

"Either that or they've decided to send the next kid a month early."

"But why? It's always been once a month until now. Why would they change it?"

"Search me. But there's something weird going on here."

"Yeah. First Beth flips out as soon as she sees the new kid . . . What's her name again? Rachel? So Beth flips out when she sees Rachel, accuses her of all sorts of stuff. Then, the very next evening, we get another new kid."

"Like you said, weird."

Spotting Indira and me, Rachel hurried over to us, looking as confused as everyone in the Glade. Actually, she was probably even more confused. The rest of us already knew about the alarm; it was just the fact that it wasn't supposed to sound today that had thrown us. When something has happened on the same day every month for more than two years, you expect it to keep happening on that day every month. So, when that schedule is changed suddenly and without warning, it's only natural to assume something must be going on. But at least most of us knew what the alarm was for. Rachel, as the newest addition to our little community, didn't and her next words made that clear. "What's happening? Why did that alarm ring just now?"

Indira and I quickly filled her in on the Box, explaining how it came once a week to deliver supplies, once a month to deliver a new person. The alarm only ever sounded if there was someone in the Box, but it hadn't been due to go off today and the fact that it had gone off was making people uneasy. Like I said, most of us had grown used to that alarm ringing on the same day every month, but it had never sounded two days in a row - until now.

* * *

A muffled boom told us the Box, along with its occupant, had arrived. As usual, everyone crowded around the hatch, eager to catch their first glimpse of the Glade's newest resident. I could hear people speculating loudly about what they might find when the Box was opened up. A girl called Jody suggested that perhaps it wasn't a person but a map showing us how to get out of here; she received several glares for saying something so stupid. Vera said it might be Felicia and Caroline, rescued from the Maze and sent back to the Glade. After all, their bodies had never been found and, unlike when Ada was killed, none of us had seen them die, so they might still be alive. That, however, sounded even more unlikely than Jody's suggestion about the map.

"Let us through! Make way!"

Everyone moved aside at the sound of Harriet's voice, making a path for her and Sonya. This path ended at the Box and, within moments, our two leaders were kneeling beside the doors on which Sonya had once painted the ominous warning about what would happen to anyone who thought the Box Hole might serve as an escape route. As they had done many times before, Harriet and Sonya opened up the hatch and peered into the Box, taking in the person who had until that moment been imprisoned in its dark interior. So far, so normal, apart from the fact that whoever was in the Box had arrived nearly a month early according to our usual schedule.

But, then, Sonya said three words. "That's not right."

"Very much not right," agreed Harriet. She straightened up and shook her head in disbelief. "What are those fuzzing Creators up to this time? First the alarm goes off twice in as many days, then they send us a . . ." She paused for several seconds as though whatever she had been about to say was so unbelievable that she didn't know how to say it. "That's never happened before," she added, shaking her head again.

"What do you mean?" asked a girl named Wendy. She'd arrived in the Glade eight months after me and was one of Victoria's Farmers, but that was all I knew about her. "What's never happened before?"

Harriet answered Wendy's question with one of her own. "Apart from having lost our memories, what does everyone here have in common? Or, rather, what _did_ everyone here have in common?"

The only reply she received was several blank looks, forcing her to come right out and reveal what she and Sonya had seen when they opened the Box. "The new kid," she told us with the air of someone delivering a piece of very important news, "is a boy."


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

To say Harriet's announcement came as a shock to all of us would be the understatement of the century. It was completely unprecedented. Never, in all the time we had been in the Glade, had a boy been sent up in the Box; it was always a girl. Or at least it had always been a girl until now. That, I realised as I watched everyone milling around in confusion, meant there had been two deviations from our normal schedule in one day. First the alarm going off when it wasn't supposed to, now this. What else was going to happen?

Before I had time to wonder, Harriet spoke again. "Well, we can't leave him in there." She turned to the two girls nearest to her. "Julia, Dido, go fetch the rope."

As Julia and Dido hurried to do as Harriet instructed, the rest of us continued to hang around the area of the Box Hole, though not all of us could get close enough to see into the Box. So we waited, wanting to satisfy our curiosity; the boy in the Box would after all be the first male any of us could remember seeing and speculation about why he had been sent here was rife. A few of us even suggested that, after sending fifty-nine girls to the Glade, the Creators had decided the time had come to start sending boys to be our "partners"; I don't think I need to tell you what _that_ implies. I, however, had a feeling the explanation for the boy's presence in the Box was something completely different, though I didn't know what.

Just then, Julia and Dido came back, carrying the rope we used to get new kids out of the Box. Normally at this stage, the rope would be lowered, then the kid would grab hold of it and be hauled out of the Box and into the Glade, but that didn't happen this time. Instead, once the rope had been lowered, Sonya climbed down into the Box. Clearly, I realised as I watched the unfolding scene, the boy was unable to grasp the rope for some reason; that must be why Sonya had climbed in after him. Him. It was going to be strange seeing a boy in the Glade, especially when, like so many other things, I could remember what boys were and how they differed physically from girls, but any memories of specific boys had been lost to me.

"OK!" Sonya called from inside the Box. "He's secure! Pull us up!"

Around a dozen girls, including Harriet, immediately began hauling on the rope, several of them grunting with the effort, a sure sign that they were having to pull up two people. Gradually, the first male to enter the Glade was revealed. From where I was standing, I could see that he was in his mid to late teens, with olive skin and dark hair. He also seemed to be asleep or . . .

. . . dead. But, if he was, what could have killed him? Everyone else who had been sent to the Glade had emerged from the Box alive, so why was this boy different? And what purpose could sending a dead boy up in the Box serve? Was this some kind of sick joke on the part of the Creators? I was just pondering those questions when I heard Rachel, who was standing nearby, give an involuntary gasp. Then, she said three words.

"I know him."

* * *

I looked at Rachel for several seconds, wondering what she'd meant when she said she knew the boy, though I doubted she'd be able to elaborate if I asked her. Like everyone else in the Glade, her memory had been wiped, except the Creators seemed to have left a few faint traces in her case, just enough for her to have a "feeling" that she'd been in the Glade before, just enough for her to somehow know the boy who had just been pulled out of the Box. But how did she know him and where from?

My attention was drawn back to the boy as Sonya called for the Medics to come and take a look at him. Seconds later, those gathered around him moved aside to make a path, allowing Flossie to approach her patient; another Medic, Trix, followed close behind her. Flossie and Trix spent a few moments examining the boy, checking his vital signs as he lay on the ground by the Box, completely oblivious to the fact that two teenaged girls were kneeling beside him, listening to his chest. After a while, Flossie straightened up and turned to face the rest of us.

"He's alive," she said. "But he seems to be in some kind of coma, though I can't think what could have caused it. He's breathing OK and his heartbeat's pretty regular, if a little slow. I think we'd better take him to the Dwelling and keep an eye on him. See how long it takes for him to wake up - or not." She looked down at the boy, lying motionless on the ground, his eyes closed, showing no sign of life except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. "I'd like to know what's going on," she added. "Why the Creators sent him here."

"That's something we'd all like to know." It was Sonya who had spoken; she and Harriet had joined Flossie and Trix beside the boy. "There's got to be a reason for it, or why would they have put him in the Box? And why would they send him now and not in a month's time?" Like Flossie before her, she too looked down at the newest addition to the Glade as though she was expecting him to wake up at that very moment and start telling us his whole life story, right up until the moment he was knocked out somehow and placed in the Box. But, given that everyone else in the Glade remembered nothing about their past lives except their names, it was highly unlikely he would be able to tell us much. All the same, Sonya was right about one thing; the Creators wouldn't have deviated from their usual pattern of sending one girl a month up in the Box unless they had a reason for doing so. We could only hope that we would find out who the boy was and why he had been sent here in due course.

In the meantime, a canvas stretcher was brought from one of the sheds where we stored equipment and the boy was loaded onto it so that he could be carried to the Dwelling. Flossie and Trix positioned themselves at either end of the stretcher, preparing to lift it. Just as they were about to do so, Harriet called on them to wait a second, then reached out and eased something out of the boy's fist, something most of us hadn't noticed until that point. A crumpled piece of paper. Harriet smoothed it out as best she could and spend several seconds studying it. As she did so, an expression which said she couldn't believe what she was seeing crossed her face.

"What now?" I heard Tegan say from where she stood nearby. As usual, she was hanging out with her friend, Emily; the two of them had grown up a lot in the past two years and were now approximately fifteen years old, not that we had any way of knowing for sure.

Tegan's words served as a catalyst for us to start bombarding Harriet with questions, everyone trying to talk over each other so that very little of what was being asked (or, rather, shouted) could actually be heard. In the end, Harriet had to yell at us to shut up or she wouldn't tell us anything; it seemed to work because, within seconds, everyone had fallen silent and was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to reveal what was on the paper she had taken from the boy's hand.

Harriet took a deep breath. "It says . . ." A long pause followed, during which several of us started shuffling our feet with growing impatience. We wanted to get on with our usual evening activities, but we also wanted to hear whatever was in the message the boy had delivered to the Glade.

"Well?" said a girl named Louisa, planting her hands on her hips. "Out with it!"

"It says," Harriet said again. She then proceeded to read out loud from the piece of paper she was holding. _"He's the last one. Ever."_

* * *

The boy was quickly transferred to the Dwelling and put to bed in the Changing Room. As its name suggests, this was the room where we placed people who were going through the Changing; its most recent occupant until now had been Beth. It was right at the top of the building we called home, an attic reached by a single wooden staircase, well away from the rest of the bedrooms. Experience had taught us that it was impossible to stop those going through the Changing from screaming, so we had decided they should be placed in the attic where they wouldn't disturb the rest of us too much. This had inevitably led to the attic being nicknamed the Changing Room.

Anyway, the boy was placed in the Changing Room, not because he was likely to disturb anyone, but because we couldn't think where else to put him. He was male, whereas the rest of us were female; it somehow didn't feel right to have him sharing one of the main bedrooms with four or five girls. Perhaps, when he came out of his coma, he would find a sleeping spot outside, as had all of the more recent arrivals, but for now he would stay in the Changing Room. Flossie and the other Medics would keep an eye on him, watch for any changes in his condition. His life didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, but, since Flossie didn't know what was wrong with him, she had no way of predicting the outcome.

That evening, I sat on a bench outside the Dwelling, the spot where I usually hung out with my friends. Flossie was occupied with the boy, but Indira and Christie had joined me, as had Rachel. We were doing our best to make her feel welcome, but there was no denying that there was something different about her. Not bad necessarily, just different. To start with, she had said this place felt familiar and, only a couple of hours ago, she had said she knew the boy. The boy who was apparently going to be the last person ever sent to the Glade. Who was he? And how did Rachel know him? I put both questions to the girl who had, until the boy turned up, been our most recent arrival.

"I don't really know him," she said, shaking her head. "Not his name, I mean. He just looked . . . familiar. Like we were connected somehow. And he spoke to me while he was lying on the ground by the Box."

I wondered if I'd heard Rachel correctly. The boy hadn't moved the whole time he was lying there and he certainly hadn't spoken to Rachel, nor to anyone else. "What do you mean, he spoke to you?" I asked. "He never said a word." I turned to Indira and Christie, who nodded to back me up.

Rachel quickly clarified her previous statement. "I don't mean he spoke to me out loud; I just heard a voice in my mind, a boy's voice. I knew it must be him. He was saying stuff like "It's almost over" and "Things will change soon" - I don't know what that means. But I could hear him quite clearly." She looked at Indira, Christie and myself, her face bearing an expression which said what she was about to say next was very important to her. "You won't tell any of the others, will you? Especially not Beth."

My two friends and I agreed to keep Rachel's secret, at least for the time being. But something told me that wouldn't be for long, that things were about to change around here, though I didn't know how. I just had a feeling Rachel and the boy were going to play an important role in what was to come.

* * *

The next day began much like any other in the Glade, which, for myself and the rest of the Runners, meant it was spent in the Maze, mapping the ever-changing corridors. While we were running, Indira and I tried to forget about Rachel and the boy and concentrate on the task at hand. Experience had taught us that the Maze was no place to get careless; one false move and you would end up spending the night with the Grievers, something which no-one had ever survived. So we had learned to keep our minds focused on mapping the Maze, on taking note of which corridors were blocked off today and, most importantly, on what time it was. Some time between half-past-two and three o'clock, Indira and I started to retrace our route, knowing we had to be back in the Glade before the Doors closed.

As we entered the Glade, we saw Yoko and Sarah emerging through the West Door. Yoko, I noticed, was supporting a third person, who appeared to be limping. This in itself was unusual; the Maze was so vast that meetings between Runners who weren't partners were pretty much unheard of. But the girl Yoko was supporting wasn't a Runner, nor was she a Reserve. She was Rachel, a girl who had only been in the Glade for two days, though that was more than enough time for her to be warned that the Maze was forbidden to anyone who wasn't a Runner. Remembering what had happened to other non-Runners who had entered the Maze, I felt my breath catch in my throat. I hurried over to Yoko. "Has she . . .?"

". . . been stung?" Yoko finished my question for me. "No. But we did have a run-in with a Griever; that's how she hurt her ankle."

"But what was she doing in the Maze?"

It was Sarah who answered this time. "No idea. We just found her standing near the edge of the Cliff, staring straight ahead, almost as if she expected to see something."

Bit by bit, the whole story unfolded. Yoko and Sarah had just reached the Cliff which marked the end of Section H when they found Rachel standing there. According to Rachel, something had drawn her towards that spot, as though there was something important about it. Yoko and Sarah, who guessed she must have entered the Maze via the West Door, but had no way of knowing how she got ahead of them, had decided the best course of action was to get her out of the Maze - it was nearly time for them to go back anyway - but, before the three of them could move, a Griever suddenly appeared from the direction of the Cliff. "Like it came out of nowhere," said Sarah. "One minute it wasn't there, the next minute it was." She and Yoko knew from experience that the most sensible thing to do when faced with a Griever was to put as much distance as possible between it and yourself, that you should only attempt to fight it if there was no other option. So they, along with Rachel, elected to make a run for it. Then, Rachel tried climbing the ivy growing on the Maze walls, only to lose her grip and fall awkwardly; that was how she had injured her ankle. Fortunately, she, Yoko and Sarah had lost sight of the Griever by this point.

Remembering that I had been a Medic before I became a Runner, I examined Rachel's ankle. "I don't think it's broken," I announced after a while. "But you'd better stay off it for a couple of days. And no more unauthorised trips into the Maze - you were lucky to get away without being stung."

* * *

Rachel's ankle looked like it needed to be bandaged, but I didn't have a first aid kit handy and Flossie was the one in charge of the medical equipment. Leaving Rachel sitting on a bench, I headed back to the Dwelling, where I found Christie and asked her if she had seen Flossie.

"She's in the Changing Room with that boy," Christie replied.

"Well, would you go and get her?" I asked. "Rachel's hurt her ankle and it needs to be bandaged." I chose not to mention that Rachel had been in the Maze when she was injured, but I knew it was bound to come out sooner or later; it was impossible to keep anything secret in this place. And why had Rachel been in the Maze anyway? She said something had drawn her towards the Cliff, but what? And how had she, only two days after she was sent up in the Box, been able to find her way to that spot so unerringly that she got there ahead of Yoko and Sarah, two experienced Runners? And then there was the Griever which Sarah had said seemed to appear from nowhere.

"OK." Christie hurried off in the direction of the Changing Room and I sat down on a nearby chair to wait for Flossie. I had only been sitting there for a matter of minutes when someone entered the Dwelling. Henrietta. She was wearing her usual denim overalls and red-and-white checked shirt, but the haunted look she had worn ever since she went through the Changing, was gone, replaced by a look of fanatical determination. And, in her hand, she held a lethal-looking axe, an axe I instinctively knew she planned to use for something other than chopping wood.

"What are you doing?" I asked before I could stop myself. I jumped up and hurried to block her path as she made to head upstairs, not stopping to think about what she might do with the axe in her hand.

"Get out of my way!" Henrietta ordered, still gripping her axe. "It's that fuzzing boy I want! Him and Rachel! They're working for the Creators, both of them! I have to kill them before they get all of _us_ killed! And I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me!"

"Henrietta," I said, though the expression on Henrietta's face told me my chances of getting through to her were slim. "Henrietta, stop and think about it. You don't have any proof that they're helping the Creators." Unless she'd been listening to Beth's wild accusations, but I refrained from mentioning this out loud. "Besides, the boy's been unconscious since he arrived."

"You haven't been through the Changing - I have!" Henrietta tightened her grip on her axe. "It gave me back my memories, but the things I remembered were terrible! I've forgotten most of it now, but I know I saw _them_ , Rachel and the boy, working with the Creators! They've been sent here to trick us into going back to the outside world! But I'm gonna stop them! I'm gonna kill them both!" I had never seen Henrietta like this in the two years I had known her. She was normally quiet and reserved, not given to violent outbursts, and she certainly hadn't said she wanted to kill anyone before. Now, however, something seemed to have flipped inside her, turning her into a maniac who ranted and raved and was quite prepared to use her axe as a weapon against another human being.

I was just wondering if I should make another attempt to reason with Henrietta when Christie appeared at the foot of the stairs, carrying the first aid kit. "Flossie sent me," she explained. "She can't leave the boy right now and the other Medics are . . ." She broke off when she saw that Henrietta was brandishing an axe. "What's going on?"

"Christie! Get back!" I yelled. Henrietta was capable of anything in her current deranged state; the last thing I wanted was for a Pip like Christie to end up on the wrong end of that axe.

* * *

Just then, the door burst open to reveal Harriet, armed with a crossbow to which she had fitted a bolt, ready to fire. She must have seen Henrietta heading in the direction of the Dwelling with an axe in her hand and decided she had to be stopped. There could be little doubt that Henrietta had, after more than two years, finally snapped and, as with Beth, it was something about Rachel and the boy that had set her off. Something about them helping the Creators, though I didn't know if this was true or not. What I did know was that Harriet had obviously recognised the need for precautions when she went to confront Henrietta.

But was it too late to try and make Henrietta listen to reason? My attempt hadn't been very successful, but maybe Harriet, who had her crossbow to back her up, would do better. She certainly gave it a try. "Henrietta," she said, keeping her voice steady and her crossbow poised to fire, "put the axe down now, or I'll be forced to shoot you."

"No!" Henrietta retorted. "If you won't let me kill Rachel and that boy, you're as bad as them! None of you deserve to live!" With that, she made to swing her axe in my direction; I dodged out of the way, only for Henrietta to come after me again, still bearing the same fanatical look she'd had when she first appeared on the scene. She meant to kill me and, once she had done that, she would go after Harriet, Christie and whoever else stood between her and her real targets: Rachel and the boy.

"I warned you," Harriet said. Then, without saying another word, she released her crossbow bolt, catching Henrietta right in the temple. Henrietta, a look of disbelief etched on her face, remained standing for a few seconds, then crumpled to the floor, dead.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Once again, we were assembled in the graveyard, all of us except three; the boy was still in his coma and it was Harper's turn to sit with him. As for Rachel, Flossie had pretty much confirmed my earlier diagnosis: her ankle wasn't broken, just sprained, but she should stay off it for a couple of days. So we'd left her resting in the Dwelling while the rest of us (minus Harper and the boy) went to bury Henrietta.

I stood with Indira, Flossie and Christie, my gaze fixed inexorably on the wooden box which contained the body of the girl who had wanted to murder the two newest members of our little community. The scene replayed in my mind. Henrietta entering the Dwelling, armed with an axe, ranting about how Rachel and the boy had to be killed before they got all of us killed. Harriet appearing with her crossbow and telling Henrietta she would shoot her if she didn't put the axe down. The moment Henrietta tried to kill me with her axe, forcing Harriet to carry out her threat and put a crossbow bolt through Henrietta's temple. That meant ten girls had now died, though this was the first time one of us had killed one of the others. An unpleasant necessity, Harriet had explained at the Emergency Meeting we held afterwards; Henrietta had gone beyond reason and the only way to stop her was to end her life. Put simply, it was her or everyone.

There had been some debate over what to do with Henrietta's body. Some thought a would-be murderer shouldn't be buried, but should be thrown down the Box Hole or left in the Maze for the Grievers to find. But others, and I was one of them, argued that, regardless of what Henrietta had tried to do, she was still a human being and her body should be disposed of with as much dignity as that of anyone else. Besides, everyone knew she had been through the Changing, which was known to do strange things to people's minds; some lingering effect must have driven her to take up that axe. In the end, those in the latter camp won the argument, so, for the fifth time since I arrived in the Glade, I found myself attending a funeral.

As Henrietta's coffin was lowered into the ground, I thought of how fragile life was, how, but for Harriet's intervention, it might have been me in that wooden box. To say nothing of the fact that Henrietta had been fully prepared to kill as many people as she had to in order to get to Rachel and the boy. Rachel and the boy. Henrietta wasn't the only person in the Glade to have accused either of them of working for the Creators; there was Beth too. I could see the former Keeper of the Gardeners standing nearby, looking as though she might launch into another round of wild accusations at any second. Then, just as we were about to start filling in the grave, it happened.

"We're burying the wrong person!" Beth suddenly burst out. "Henrietta was only trying to save us all!" She rounded on Harriet. "You! You killed an innocent girl and let those two fuzzing traitors, Rachel and that boy, live! You should have . . ." But she got no further before Harriet cut her off.

"Beth! That's enough! This is a funeral. Besides, I told you before: Rachel is one of us, whether you like it or not, as is the boy. And you will leave both of them alone!"

If Harriet had been hoping this would be enough to make Beth back down, she was soon proved wrong. "Oh, yeah?" Beth looked at Harriet in a way which said she wasn't going to stop until she had said what she had to say, regardless of the consequences. "Innocent until proved guilty, are they? Did you know Rachel went into the Maze yesterday - and got out with nothing more than a sprained ankle? How did she manage that, eh? How did she get away virtually unscathed when Henrietta, Martha and I got stung by the Grievers?!" When Harriet didn't reply, Beth answered her own question. "Well, I'll tell you. She and the boy are working for the Creators - that's why she didn't get stung. They're gonna get everyone here killed, but you're all too fuzzing stupid to realise!"

"Beth," Harriet said, keeping her voice calm and authoritative, "if you can't conduct yourself properly, I think you'd better leave."

Beth glared at her. "Fine!" she said, putting as much venom as she could into the word. "I'm going!" And, with that, she turned and stormed off, leaving the rest of us standing around in stunned disbelief.

* * *

As soon as the funeral was over, I ran back to the Dwelling. Beth's outburst troubled me. There was no proof that Rachel and the boy had been helping the Creators, much less that they were trying to get us all killed, but Henrietta had wanted them dead and I had an uneasy feeling Beth might take it into her head to finish what the girl we'd just buried had started. I had to make sure Rachel and the boy were all right.

First, I looked in on Rachel; she was sleeping in the room where we'd left her resting, the steady rising and falling of her chest assuring me that she was alive. I left her and headed up to the Changing Room where the comatose boy lay, arriving to find him much as he had been when he was pulled out of the Box. Eyes closed, no sign that he was aware of his surroundings, seemingly dead to the world. Harper was sitting beside him, a notepad like those the Runners used in the Maze resting on her lap, a pencil in her right hand. "What are you writing?" I asked her as I entered the sparsely furnished attic. Apart from the bed on which the boy lay, it contained only a wooden nightstand and two chairs, one of which was currently occupied by Harper.

"He's been talking in his sleep," Harper replied, looking down at the boy. "I've been trying to write down what he says, but I can't work out what most of it means."

"What's he been saying?" Something - don't ask me what - told me that whatever the boy was saying was of vital importance to everyone in the Glade, all fifty of us. At the very least, it might have some bearing on why he was here and why he had arrived with a note saying he was the last person who would ever be sent up in the Box.

Harper looked down at her notepad. "Like I said, most of it doesn't make sense," she told me. "But he's mentioned something called "the Ending" a few times and he keeps saying Rachel's name over and over, almost as though . . ."

". . . he was asking for her." I found myself finishing Harper's sentence for her as I recalled how, shortly after the boy was removed from the Box, Rachel had said she knew him, though she couldn't say how, couldn't even remember his name. She just had a feeling that there was some kind of connection between them. But how were they connected? I could not begin to answer that question, but one thing was clear: the boy knew Rachel's name, so, in theory at least, she should know his. If only we had some means of unlocking her memory without resorting to letting her get stung by the Grievers, we might be able to find out who he was. But all we could do was wait for him to wake up and tell us his name himself . . .

Suddenly, I became aware of a male voice muttering something. And, since there was only one male present, it wasn't hard to guess whose voice it was; even so, I looked at the boy to confirm it. He lay there with his eyes closed but twitching beneath their lids, his lips moving as he repeated the same three words over and over like a mantra.

"Solve the code . . . Solve the code . . . Solve the code . . ."

* * *

I left the Changing Room at that point, the boy's words echoing in my mind. "Solve the code," he'd said. But what did he mean by that? I had no way of knowing and the only person who could possibly tell me was currently unconscious in the room above me. Perhaps it had something to do with the "Ending" which Harper had told me he kept mentioning, but, since I didn't even know what _that_ meant . . .

My thoughts were cut off abruptly as Christie came charging up the stairs, barely avoiding a collision with me. From the frantic expression on her face, I knew she had something to tell me, something which she felt was of the utmost importance, though a twelve- or thirteen-year-old's idea of what's important doesn't necessarily correlate with that of an older person. Even so, I thought I'd better hear her out. "What's going on?" I asked, putting thoughts of the boy and the code out of my mind for the time being.

Christie's reply was two words long. "Beth's gone!"

"Gone? What do you mean?" I remembered Beth's outburst at Henrietta's funeral, her wild accusations against Rachel and the boy, her storming off. I'd feared she was going to kill the two newest additions to the Glade, but they were both still alive, so Beth had put any murderous intentions she might have on hold - for now. But I had a feeling it was only a matter of time before she made an attempt on their lives, especially since she seemed to believe Henrietta was some kind of martyr. And then there was Patra and Martha, the other two girls who'd been stung by Grievers. So far, neither of them had tried anything, but, if Henrietta and Beth remembered Rachel and the boy from the Changing, I was willing to bet they did too.

"She's not in the Glade!" Christie informed me with the air of someone announcing the birth of a new messiah. "They've looked all over, but she's nowhere to be found!"

The uneasy expression on Christie's face was almost certainly reflected on my own as it dawned on both of us just where Beth had gone. It was the only place she could go. Into the Maze. And, according to my watch, the Doors were due to close in less than five minutes.

* * *

Based on what had happened to everyone else who got trapped in the Maze overnight, we knew the odds of us seeing Beth alive again were so slim that they were virtually non-existent. That made eleven of us now, eleven of us who had become fatalities of whatever plans the Creators had for us. Forty-nine of us remained, but there was no telling who would be next. All we knew was that, if what the boy's note said was true, there would be no new kids sent to replace the ones we'd lost. So, if things carried on like this, our numbers would continue to dwindle until there was no-one left. Our only hope was that an exit from the Maze would finally reveal itself.

But, if there was an exit, it remained as elusive as ever. The other Runners and I continued with our daily task of mapping the constantly changing corridors, only to find when we compared our Maps to the ones we had drawn up over the last few days that they revealed nothing new. But we didn't give up. We kept telling ourselves that the Maze must have a solution and we had to keep looking until we found it. For some reason, it never occurred to any of us that we might be approaching this from the wrong angle, that solving the Maze didn't necessarily mean we had to find an opening in those stone walls which led to the outside world.

During our lunch break one day, Indira and I took the time to discuss recent events. "It's been a weird few days," I remarked through a mouthful of my salad sandwich, not realising just how weird things would soon become.

"You can say that again," said Indira. She began listing every untoward thing that had happened since Rachel and the boy arrived, ending with Beth's disappearance. "Jenny," she said as something suddenly occurred to her, "do you think Beth might still be alive?"

"What makes you say that?" It was now two days since Beth had, for the second time in her life, run out into the Maze and none of us had seen her since. Nor did we expect to, not alive at any rate. The most we could hope for was that one of the four pairs of Runners might eventually find whatever was left of her.

"Well, we've never found her body, nor have any of the other Runners. So I thought . . ."

"We never found Felicia and Caroline's bodies either," I pointed out. "And I've seen what the Grievers do to their victims." I shuddered, recalling the moment Ada was engulfed by the Griever which had just killed her; I'd needed no-one to tell me that she was about to be devoured. But I didn't stick around to watch. I fled the scene before the Griever decided I was next on the menu, knowing there would be little, if anything, left of Ada when it was through. And Beth had almost certainly met the same fate.

"What about Linda and Anne?" Indira asked. Of all those who had been killed by the Grievers, they were the only ones whose bodies had been found reasonably intact. And, of the others, only Val and Connie had left any remains at all.

"I don't know. Perhaps they got stung and managed to get away, only to die in the Maze." I finished my sandwich, took a drink from my flask and got up. "Come on," I said, looking for an excuse to change the subject. "We've still got a long way to go." I gave Indira a few minutes to finish her lunch before we moved on, continuing with our daily task of mapping the Maze. Along the way, we passed a spot where a gap in the ivy revealed a sign with the words:

 _WORLD IN CATASTROPHE:  
KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT_

printed on it in capital letters. But neither of us gave it more than a cursory glance; there were identical signs all over the Maze and we'd long since stopped taking any notice of them. We did occasionally wonder what those six words meant, but that was as far as our interest in the signs went.

* * *

That evening, once Indira and I were finished in the Map Room, we went to check on the boy, who still lay unconscious in the Changing Room. Flossie didn't know what had caused his coma, but she said there didn't seem to be too much wrong with him, apart from the fact that he wouldn't wake up. He continued to talk in his sleep, though, muttering about "the Ending", "the code" and stuff like that, none of which made much sense. But he had said Rachel's name several times and Rachel seemed to know him from somewhere, though she couldn't say where. All she knew was that the boy seemed familiar.

She was sitting beside him when Indira and I entered the Changing Room, holding his hand, looking at him intently. Flossie stood nearby, watching Rachel and the boy. Seeing us, she quickly explained that having Rachel in the Changing Room was Harriet and Sonya's idea; their theory was that, if there was some connection between her and the boy, her presence might help him to recover from his coma. I vaguely remembered something about the loved ones of unconscious patients sitting beside their hospital beds and talking to them in an attempt to bring them round, but, as always, there were no personal references to go with the memory. In any case, Harriet and Sonya (who had been given daily updates on the boy's progress since he arrived) must have remembered this as well and decided to try it out on the boy. And, since Rachel was the only person in the Glade who seemed to have a past connection to him . . .

"He's talking in my mind," Rachel said, looking up from the figure on the bed.

"What's he saying?" I asked, wishing for a moment that I could join in this telepathy thing myself. But I'd already tried and I knew I couldn't pick up thoughts from Rachel, the boy or anyone else. And Rachel couldn't pick up my thoughts either, just the boy's. There must be something special about the two of them, but what?

"He says his memories are fading." Rachel turned her gaze back to the boy. "He wants to tell me before he forgets everything. WICKED, the code . . ."

At this point, I couldn't help butting in as I recalled the three words I'd heard the boy muttering over and over only two days earlier. "He's mentioned something about a code before," I said. "While he was talking in his sleep. But we don't know what it means, so we thought it was just nonsense." Or was it just nonsense? What if the boy somehow knew things the rest of us didn't? What if, instead of spending our time trying to solve a Maze which resolutely refused to be solved, we were supposed to be solving a code? But there was one problem with that idea; in all the time I'd been in the Glade, I'd never seen anything which seemed to spell out a coded message. Then again, the Creators clearly didn't want to make things easy for us, which meant the code was probably hidden in the last place any of us would think of looking.

"He says there's a code hidden in the Maze," Rachel told us. "He's forgotten the details already, but he says we have to solve it before it's too late. He was sent here to . . . to trigger the Ending. That's why he had that note and . . . Aris!" The last word was shouted in the tone of someone who's just had a sudden revelation and wants to share it with everyone within earshot.

It was Indira who asked the question she, Flossie and myself were all longing to ask. "What do you mean?" Even with our memories of our lives before we came to the Glade erased, we knew "Aris" wasn't a word. Perhaps, I thought to myself, Rachel had actually said: "Arise!" Yes, that must be it.

"He just told me his name." Rachel nodded towards the boy, who gave no sign that he had told anyone anything, not verbally at any rate. "He's called Aris, but he can't remember what his surname is."

Something everyone in the Glade had in common.

* * *

Aside from the mystery surrounding Rachel and Aris, not to mention Henrietta's death and Beth's disappearance, life over the last few days had continued much as it had done for more than two years, with all of us going about our daily tasks as usual. The Runners mapping the Maze, the Farmers looking after the animals, the Gardeners tending the plants, the Cooks preparing our meals, the Builders mending whatever needed to be mended, the Cleaners keeping things tidy. And then there were the Medics, who, in addition to giving first aid to anyone who needed it, kept a constant watch on Aris. Flossie, who continued to keep us updated on his progress, said she thought he might wake up soon, but she couldn't tell us precisely when this would happen. All she knew was that he was beginning to show signs of awareness; he'd started blinking when she or one of the other Medics spoke to him.

It took Aris about a week to come out of his coma and, when he did, everything went nuts.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The first thing I noticed when I awoke was that the light seemed unusually dim, more like twilight than morning. At first, I wondered if I had simply woken up earlier than usual, before it was properly light, but a quick glance at my watch told me I hadn't. It was already eight o'clock; the sun should have been up by now. But, for some unknown reason, it wasn't. What was going on? Were we experiencing a solar eclipse? I remembered learning about eclipses, how the moon gets between the sun and the Earth, obscuring our nearest star and causing night to fall for a few moments, but not where I'd learned this information. Nor could I remember if I'd ever seen an eclipse myself.

But, when I got up and opened the blinds on the window, I soon discovered that my theory about the eclipse was wrong. Completely wrong. My memories of the world beyond the Glade, vague and impersonal though they were, told me that, even during the couple of minutes when the moon completely covered the sun, I should have been able to see the sun's outer atmosphere. But I couldn't. I couldn't see the sun at all, just a sky that had, for some inexplicable reason, turned a dull grey. Not the grey that heralds an impending storm, but a grey which seemed to suck all life, all colour out of the Glade.

It wasn't long before the others who shared the room I slept in joined me at the window. And they were just as alarmed as I was at the sight of our strange new sky.

"What's going on?!"

"What's happened to the sky?!"

"Where's the sun?!"

Later, I would find out what had happened to cause the sky to change the way it had. But, at that moment in time, the only answer I could give to all three questions was: "I don't know."

* * *

We got dressed in the dim half-light, none of us knowing what was happening or why. But I had an uneasy feeling that whatever was going on could mean big trouble for us. For one thing, unless the sun reappeared soon, our crops would start to die and chances were we'd lose all our livestock as well, either from starvation or being slaughtered so that we wouldn't have to use up valuable supplies on keeping them fed. We could live off the food we had stored for quite a while, not to mention that killing all the animals would ensure that we had plenty of meat, but those supplies wouldn't last forever. And, if we couldn't grow any crops because we had no sun, if we had no meat because all our animals had been eaten, this would leave us totally dependent on the Box and its weekly delivery of supplies.

Outside, we found several people milling about, some gazing fearfully up at the grey sky, some huddled together and weeping in a way which suggested they thought the world was coming to an end. I even saw a few who were kneeling as if in prayer, even though there was nothing resembling organised religion in the Glade. And, from the snatches of conversation I caught as I passed these huddled groups, I gathered that they were just as puzzled by the strange sky as I was. Only yesterday, the sun had been shining down on us as it had done every day for the past two years, but now it was nowhere to be seen. The whole sky was grey, grey and lifeless.

* * *

Breakfast was a sombre affair, with none of the usual chatter. What conversation there was revolved around the subject of the grey sky and the sudden disappearance of the sun, something which no-one seemed to be able to explain. No-one, that is, until Rachel made a remark about how "close" the sky seemed this morning. "Almost like a ceiling," she said through a mouthful of sausage. "I bet you could touch it if you got a ladder and climbed it . . . Wait!" she exclaimed suddenly. "That could explain it!"

"Explain what?" asked Flossie, who had been concentrating on the food on the plate in front of her.

"The sky," Rachel replied, pointing to the Mess Hall ceiling with her knife. "What if it's not really the sky at all, but the ceiling of an enormous room?"

I looked at her, as did Flossie, Indira and Christie; her suggestion sounded almost too fantastic to believe. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. We must have been inside, perhaps even underground, all this time, living under a "sky" that was really a holographic projection designed to conceal the ceiling Rachel had mentioned. As for the sun - or, rather, what we had believed to be the sun - that too must have been artificial; there was no way the real sun could have vanished like this. So both our sky and our sun had been fake, almost certainly the work of the Creators, who, for reasons I didn't yet understand, had tricked us into thinking the Glade was outdoors. But, if Rachel's theory about the enormous room was correct . . .

Of course! That explained a lot of the things that didn't quite add up about this place, in particular the fact that the weather never altered from one day to the next. For the past two years, we'd never seen it rain or snow, nor felt any wind stronger than a gentle breeze. Every day had been sunny and warm, except, I now realised, we had been living under a fake sky with a fake sun all this time. Now both of them were gone and we had no way of knowing when, or if, they would ever come back. I was just contemplating the possibility that we might have to spend the rest of our lives living in the weird twilight which now pervaded the Glade when Rachel spoke again. "Aris."

Indira, Flossie, Christie and I turned to look at her, asking with our eyes the question none of us dared ask out loud. Apart from us, no-one in the Glade knew Rachel and Aris could communicate telepathically and, in light of what had happened with Henrietta and Beth, the last thing we wanted was for this to become common knowledge. Especially since there was still a danger that Patra and Martha might also have memories of Rachel and Aris, memories that could push them over the edge at any moment. So far, that hadn't happened with either of them, but I had an uneasy feeling it was only a matter of time before it did.

"He just spoke in my mind," Rachel said, answering our silent question. "He said he'd "triggered the Ending" and that means everything's going to change around here." There was something about her tone of voice which said these changes would not be for the better, especially if they included our new "sky". But, moments later, I was distracted from any thoughts about an impending doomsday as Harriet got to her feet and began to speak to all of us. Well, everyone except Aris, who was still in his coma, and Susan, the Medic who was currently watching him.

"OK, listen up," she said. We listened, knowing from experience that, when she or Sonya addressed the whole Glade like this, whatever they had to say was of the utmost importance. "As you're all probably aware by now, the sky has changed." I half-expected someone to make a remark about her "stating the fuzzing obvious", or words to that effect, but no-one did. In fact, no-one said anything at all; we just waited to hear what she was going to say next. "And I expect you're wondering when it will return to normal," she went on. "The short answer is, we don't know. We don't even know what caused it to change, but the fact remains that it has. As for what we do about it, the answer's quite simple: for the time being, we carry on as normal. And that means we go about our daily tasks as if nothing has happened."

* * *

For Indira and myself, our daily task consisted of running the ever-changing corridors of the Maze, searching for an exit that had yet to reveal itself. And, as per Harriet's instructions to carry on as normal, we and the other three pairs of Runners entered the Maze directly after breakfast. The lack of what we now knew to be artificial sunlight gave our task a new sense of urgency; like I said before, no sun (even if it was a fake sun) meant there would soon be no living plants and, eventually, no animals. Put simply, nothing can survive without heat and light from our nearest star, or at least a very convincing simulation of it. And the Creators had created a simulation of the sun that was convincing enough to fool us for more than two years. But why? And why had they suddenly turned it off? Did it have something to do with the "Ending" which Rachel had mentioned?

But none of those questions could be answered easily. Besides, as I knew from experience, the Maze was no place to be pondering the motivations of those who had sent us here; the slightest lapse in concentration and a date with the Grievers would be your reward. So, while Indira and I were in the Maze, I tried to push thoughts of anything which did not directly concern our task out of my mind. The loss of our "sun", combined with the fact that we had no way of knowing when, or if, our "sky" would be restored to normal, meant finding a way out was more important than ever. And that meant the other Runners and I had to continue to map the Maze in the hope that today might be the day when all our efforts would finally be rewarded.

As it turned out, Indira and I found nothing new, just the walls shifting in their now predictable patterns. But we continued to map them because the slightest deviation could be a sign that an exit was about to reveal itself. Today, however, there were no deviations, just as there had been no deviations yesterday, or the day before. We ran through passage after passage, coming to a dead end each time, until we ran out of passages and had to head back.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," I told Indira, as we reached the end of the final corridor in Section F.

* * *

We emerged into the eerie half-light that now permeated the Glade; the "sky" looked just as grey as it had this morning and there was still no sign of the "sun". And, despite what Harriet had said about carrying on as normal, I saw several girls milling around as if they didn't know what they were supposed to be doing. Occasionally, one of them looked up at the "sky" as if doing so would somehow bring the "sun" back. This caused a memory to stir in my mind, a memory of ancient cultures who worshipped the sun and lived in fear that, unless they kept their sun gods happy, the golden ball on which all life depends might disappear and never come back. Some even offered human sacrifices, believing the sun needed blood to survive, not that any of the girls I could see standing around like lost sheep looked as though they were planning to do anything quite that drastic. But I had no time to think about it; the other Runners and I still had to draw up today's Maps - or so I thought.

When Indira and I entered the Map Room, the first thing we saw was that it contained more people than usual. Normally, only the eight Runners were allowed in, but this evening someone had decided to make an exception. All the Runners were here, but so were Harriet, Sonya, Rachel and - the biggest surprise of all - Aris. He must have woken up from his coma while we were in the Maze, but what was he doing in the Map Room? Come to think of it, what were any of the four non-Runners doing in the Map Room? No-one who had never been a Runner had ever entered this place, not even Harriet and Sonya. Yet here they were . . .

Harriet cleared her throat as Indira and I sat down in our usual seats. "Right. Now that all the Runners are here, let's get on with this."

"Let's get on with what?" asked Neffy, a note of impatience creeping into her voice. "You still haven't explained what they're doing here," she added, nodding towards Rachel and Aris. I was wondering the same thing myself. Why were Rachel and Aris, both of whom had only been in the Glade a week, being allowed access to the Map Room? Did it have something to do with the strange connection they shared, not to mention Rachel's flashes of deja vu? I did not have long to ponder those questions before Sonya spoke.

"I think we'd better let them explain. Rachel?"

In answer to her name, Rachel stepped forward. "Before I begin, there's something I need to tell you all," she said. "Indira and Jenny already know about it and so does Aris, of course, but I think the rest of you ought to know . . ." She paused, then added: "Aris and I are not like everyone else here. We're telepathic, both of us. I don't know why, but we are. And, when Aris woke up this afternoon, the first thing he did was call out to me with his mind. He said he had to tell me something before he forgot it, something about the code."

"Code?" It was Kate who echoed Rachel's last word. "What code? What are you talking about?"

"The code in the Maze," Aris replied, the first time I'd heard him speak. Well, aside from when he was talking in his sleep; he'd mentioned something about a code then, only it had been dismissed as random nonsense. Now, however, seeing him awake and alert for the first time since he'd turned up in the Box, I was beginning to wonder if there might be some truth to all this stuff about a code. "We have to solve it," Aris went on. "Before it's too late."

* * *

Bit by bit, Rachel and Aris explained as much as they could remember about the code, which wasn't very much. But it was enough for us to learn that the code was somehow linked to the wall movements in the Maze, only neither of them could remember what form it took. All they knew was that the walls moved in a series of set patterns, something we Runners had realised long ago, though we'd never been able to work out what the patterns meant. But Rachel and Aris, the last two people to arrive in the Glade, somehow knew it was part of a code, even though Aris had never set foot in the Maze and Rachel had only been in there once. "How do you . . .?" I began to ask. But Aris cut me short.

"I don't know. It's just something I remembered when I woke up. But it was already fading and I knew I'd have to tell someone before it was too late. So I spoke to Rachel in her mind and told her, then we met up and went to tell Harriet and Sonya. Luckily, they believed us."

Or maybe, I thought to myself, they'd thought our strange new "sky" meant there was a risk that things could start to get desperate around here, desperate enough to start listening to any idea, not matter how implausible it sounded. But I didn't mention this out loud. "So how do we go about solving this code?" I asked instead, thinking anything was worth a shot at this point. With our "sun" taken away from us, we were basically living on borrowed time.

"By studying the Maps," Aris replied. With that, he opened up one of the trunks (the one containing the Maps for Section A) and pulled out the Map which Maggie had drawn up yesterday.

"Well, duh!" said Cass. "What do you think we've been doing in here every evening for the last couple of years? Throwing wild parties?"

Aris ignored her sarcasm. "Right. But have you been studying them the _right_ way?"

"We've been comparing the Maps for each Section with the ones drawn up over the last few days, if that's what you mean," replied Yoko. "So it didn't take us long to figure out that there was a pattern. But we didn't know what it meant, so we've basically been running our backsides off for the past two years, hoping to find an answer." She shook her head. "But we've found nothing."

Rachel laughed slightly. "Good thing Aris and I turned up then . . ." She paused, then began to outline her theory. "What if, instead of doing what Yoko said, you were supposed to put the Maps for all eight Sections together?" We'd tried this, of course, but it hadn't told us anything and Cass was quick to point that out. "Well, what if you put the Maps on top of each other?" Rachel asked in reply. "If you did that . . ."

"Only one problem with that idea," said Yoko. "Those Maps aren't exactly see-through; pile 'em up and you'd just be looking at whichever one happened to be on top."

It was Aris who provided the solution to that particular problem. "Do you have any wax paper?"

"Yes," replied Indira. "Marie uses it for baking."

"Marie?" Clearly Aris didn't yet know everyone's names, though that was only to be expected since he'd only recently woken up after being in a coma for his first few days in the Glade.

"The Keeper of the Cooks," I told him. I could have launched into a long explanation about who the Keepers were and which aspects of Glade life each of them was in charge of, but there was no time for that right now. We needed to solve that code and, for that, we needed to be able to trace the Maps onto some of Marie's wax paper. "I'll nip over to the Mess Hall and fetch a couple of rolls," I said, getting up from my seat. "The rest of you, start taking the Maps out of the trunks; it'll save time later. But make sure you don't get them mixed up. If Rachel and Aris are right, we'll need to make sure they're in the right order."

"I'm coming with you," said Rachel, as I made my way towards the door.

"And so am I," added Aris.

* * *

I was grateful for Rachel and Aris's company as we made our way over to the Mess Hall; there was something about the Glade being in perpetual twilight that made me uneasy. I guess the same was true of everyone, but I couldn't shake the feeling that the grey "sky" and the disappearance of the "sun" were only the start, that things were going to get extremely tough before we were through here. And I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something missing, though I couldn't figure out what it was. In any case, I didn't have time to think about it; the most important thing right now was getting to the Mess Hall and persuading Marie to part with some of her wax paper. Which, I realised, might mean telling her about the code.

As we walked, I listened to Rachel and Aris talking, mostly about their telepathy and how each of them sensed that the other was familiar in some way, even though neither of them had any memories of their lives before they came to the Glade. But it seemed they'd decided to try and build new memories to replace the ones they'd lost, something all of us had learned to do. Except there was something about the way Rachel and Aris kept looking at each other that made me wonder about them. Were they more than just friends? Had they been more than just friends before they were sent up in the Box? I had no way of knowing and they had no way of telling me, for the simple reason that they couldn't remember.

Suddenly, we found ourselves surrounded by a dozen girls, all of whom were armed with kitchen knives. And something about their body language told me they meant business. Seconds which felt like hours passed before one of the girls stepped forward. It was Patra, her face bearing the same fanatical expression I had recently seen on the faces of Henrietta and Beth, her knife pointed directly at Aris. "You're going to die," she told him. "And her." She nodded towards Rachel. "We don't want any of the Creators' lackeys round here, do we?" This was addressed to the other girls who had surrounded us, all of whom responded by declaring that they agreed with every word Patra said. Some even brandished their knives in the air as though they were stabbing an imaginary opponent.

I needed no-one to tell me what had happened. Patra, like Henrietta and Beth before her, had flipped out. Driven to paranoia by some lingering effect of the Changing, she was convinced that Rachel and Aris were in some way to blame for us being here, that they had to be killed. And it seemed she had managed to convince several others of this as well, resulting in the formation of the first lynch mob in the history of the Glade.

As Patra and the other girls in her band of would-be executioners began to advance, I flung myself in front of Rachel and Aris, spreading my arms wide. I'd come to consider Rachel a friend in the short time I'd known her, though I wasn't as close to her as I was to Indira, Flossie and Christie; we'd all been in the Glade a lot longer than Rachel had. As for Aris, I hadn't had time to get to know him properly, but I was certain of one thing.

If these girls wanted him and Rachel, they would have to go through me.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Get out of our way, Jenny."

Patra's tone was neutral, but there was still an underlying sense that she was going to make things very uncomfortable for me if I did not do as she said. She wanted Rachel and Aris dead and, like Henrietta before her, was prepared to kill whoever stood in her way. To make matters worse, she'd managed to convince several of the others that killing the two newest members of our little community was the right thing to do. And I had an uneasy feeling that the disappearance of our "sun" had something to do with why so many people had been willing to listen to the ravings which Patra must have uttered. No doubt she'd said something about Rachel and Aris being to blame for everything that was happening and, terrified of our strange new sky, eleven other girls had believed her. I knew each of them by name - Victoria, Ruth, Alexandra, Dido, Alison, Miyoko, Gracie, Irene, Shelley, Julia, Hillary and, of course, Patra. Twelve girls, all armed with kitchen knives, all prepared to use them.

I didn't budge; I wasn't going to. Like I said before, if these girls wanted to kill Rachel and Aris, they would have to go through me. But I did try to reason with them. I doubted I'd get through to Patra, not if she was as irrational as Henrietta and Beth had been, but I might have a chance with the others. None of them had been through the Changing, so there was no danger of them having any memories of the kids I was trying to protect. It was fear, triggered by the events of this morning, that was making them act this way. They were looking for scapegoats and Patra had provided them with a couple, the very kids who might be our ticket out of here.

"Have you thought this through?" I asked, trying to avoid looking at the knives which were being pointed at me, Rachel and Aris. "I mean, what would killing us achieve? Do you think it will bring the sun back or something?"

Patra gave an insane laugh. "What kind of dimmo do you take me for? Of course I don't think it'll bring the fuzzing sun back! But it will . . ." That was as far as she got before an arrow with the tip blunted hit her in the back and fell to the ground.

"That was only a warning." Sonya's voice; she, Harriet and the other Runners were standing there, all armed with bows and arrows. She fitted another arrow to her bow and drew back the string. "All of you," she said to the girls surrounding Rachel, Aris and me, "put the knives down or I'll fire again - and the next arrow won't have a blunt tip!"

Most of Patra's group dropped their knives on the ground, fear of finding themselves on the wrong end of Sonya's arrow overriding the fear which had caused them to turn on Rachel and Aris. But Patra maintained a tight grip on her knife, the expression on her face letting everyone present know that she would sooner die than give it up. She laughed again. "Think you're gonna scare me that easily? I'm doing this for all of us! You can't trust either of them!" I knew, without needing to be told, that Patra was referring to Rachel and Aris. "I saw them when I went through the Changing!" she went on. "They're working for the Creators! We must kill them before they get all of us killed!"

"Patra," Harriet said levelly, "remember what happened to Henrietta."

Patra's response was another mad laugh. "Yes," she said. "I remember all right. I remember that you killed her to save those two fuzzing traitors! Well, look what it led to." She gestured towards the grey "sky" with the hand in which she held her knife. "No sun and," she added, pointing to the North Door, "Doors which didn't close tonight!" I looked in the direction she was pointing and, as I did so, I immediately realised why I had sensed something was missing. According to my watch, the Doors should have sealed themselves by now, only they hadn't; the North Door was still wide open and, from what Patra was saying, the same must be true of the East, West and South Doors.

"I hope you're happy," Patra went on, addressing Harriet. "Those traitors . . ." I noticed she did not refer to Rachel and Aris by name. ". . . did something to this place, sabotaged it! Henrietta could have stopped them, but you killed her! And now the Grievers will be able to get into the Glade and slaughter us all! Well, they won't get me!" With that, she turned her knife so that the blade was pointing at her own chest; before any of us could stop her, she thrust it in up to its hilt. She fell to the ground, where she lay twitching for several seconds, before becoming permanently still.

Indira knelt beside Patra and examined her. "She's dead," she told us after a few moments, though this only confirmed what everyone present already knew.

* * *

We were all pretty shaken up by Patra's suicide, but we had no time to dwell on it. For the first time in more than two years, the Doors had failed to close, leaving us vulnerable to attack by the Grievers. Until now, we'd always depended on the Doors to protect us overnight, but it looked as though we couldn't rely on them any more, not if the mechanism which caused them to open and close had been switched off. Neffy suggested putting up barricades at each Door to keep the Grievers out, but Harriet quickly squashed that idea, saying there was no way we could build adequate barricades at all four Doors. "It only takes one weak spot and we've had it," she explained.

"But we could fortify the Dwelling," Sonya added. "Board up the windows, that sort of thing. It might not keep the Grievers out, but it might slow them down. And I think we'd all better sleep inside tonight; it'll be safer than staying out in the open."

Everyone agreed that this was the best course of action, so, a few hours later, all forty-eight of us were holed up inside the Dwelling, hoping against hope that we would be able to get through the night without being attacked by the Grievers. We'd done everything we could to keep the nightmarish creatures out; Eve and her Builders had nailed boards over all the windows and every piece of furniture in the downstairs rooms had been piled against the door. But, as I surveyed the barricade, I wondered how effective it would be if it was really put to the test. As a Runner, I'd encountered Grievers before, so I knew what they were capable of. If just one of them broke through our defences, we would be in serious trouble.

"Jenny?"

I looked round to see Christie standing there, looking for all the world like the terrified child who had emerged from the Box a month after I first arrived. She'd grown since then, but she was still the youngest person in the Glade and this made me feel protective towards her. She shouldn't be in a place like this, facing the prospect of being besieged by creatures that belonged in the realms of nightmare. She should be in the outside world, a normal twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl doing normal twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl things. Nonetheless, she was here and there was nothing I could do except try to take her mind off what was happening.

"Hey. You OK?" I asked her.

She shook her head. Had there been such a thing as a rag doll or a teddy bear in the Glade, she would have been clutching it to her chest. "I'm scared," she told me, her voice trembling. "What if the Grievers get in?!"

I hugged her and tried to reassure her that we'd done everything we could to make sure that wouldn't happen, though I still doubted our anti-Griever measures would be able to stand up to a determined assault. "But," I added, "it might not be for long. Rachel and Aris know something about the Maze, something that might help us to get out of here."

A faint smile appeared on Christie's face. "Really?"

"Really." I wondered if I should tell her about the code, but, before I could decide, Harriet came and told everyone to go to bed. From the tone in her voice, I knew it was going to be a long night.

* * *

I normally shared my room with Flossie, Golda, Christie and Jane, the latter being one of Helen's Gardeners. Tonight, however, six others (including Rachel) had joined us, meaning there were eleven people in a room with only five beds. This, of course, meant our new room-mates had to sleep on the floor between the beds, not that it mattered because none of us could sleep. We were huddled against the far wall, our eyes fixed on the boarded-up window, listening to the unmistakeable sounds of Grievers moving about the Glade. Finding the Doors open, the creatures had left the confines of the Maze and gone in search of prey, in search of us.

As I listened, feeling my heart hammering in my chest, I realised one of the Grievers was getting closer; I could hear it climbing the wall in a bid to get at us. To say I was terrified wouldn't begin to cover how I was feeling. I felt, as did all the others, like cornered prey, hoping desperately that the thing hunting us would be unable to break through the barricade on the window, that it would then go away and leave us alone. Only, it didn't. It kept up a relentless assault on the window until the combined sounds of splintering wood and shattering glass heralded its entry.

The Griever hauled its bulk over the sill, its appendages extended ready to attack. We watched, paralysed with fear, as it advanced across the room. The sight of it reminded me of that day out in the Maze when Ada was killed; I needed no-one to tell me that this Griever was also out to kill, that it was going to . . .

"Help! Help me!"

As I looked on in horror, the Griever grabbed Christie with its appendages and began pulling her into itself. She screamed and struggled to escape, but its only response was to tighten its grip; I tried to pull her free, but was soon forced to admit defeat and could only watch helplessly as the Griever dragged her out of the Dwelling and into the Glade, where its fellows were waiting. Looking through the destroyed window, I saw the Grievers heading in the direction of the Maze, the one which had broken into the Dwelling carrying Christie like a trophy. From her terrified sobbing, I knew she was still alive, but I also knew she wouldn't stay that way for long.

Suddenly, Rachel made a dash for the window and began climbing out. "Rachel!" I called after her. "What are you doing?!"

"Going after Christie," she replied.

"Are you crazy?!" Flossie demanded. "There's a whole horde of Grievers out there! You can't save her!"

"She's just a kid! I've got to try!" With that, Rachel jumped out of the window and began running across the Glade, trying desperately to catch up with the Grievers before they disappeared into the Maze with Christie. But we all knew the odds of Rachel being able to save Christie from the Grievers were slim to the point of being non-existent. I slumped down in despair. The Grievers' attack wasn't unexpected; we had all known they were bound to come after us when they found the Doors open. But why did they have to take Christie? Why did the youngest member of our little community have to suffer such a fate? And Rachel was risking her own life in a vain attempt to save her; we could end up losing two people to the Grievers.

The rest of the night was a blur. I was aware of people shouting, demanding to know what was going on, but none of it registered in my mind. All I could think of was Christie screaming in terror as the Griever dragged her to her doom.

* * *

The next morning, we held an Emergency Meeting which was attended by everyone except Harper and Rachel. Four Runners (Yoko, Indira, Sarah and Cass) had found Rachel just inside Section G; she had been stung by a Griever and Sarah had taken her back to the Glade, while Yoko, Indira and Cass went after the Grievers which had taken Christie, only to lose track of them. Not that there had ever been much hope of a successful rescue. Right now, Rachel, who had been injected with the Grief Serum as soon as she was back in the Glade, was going through the Changing with Harper keeping watch over her and Harriet was grilling Aris for information about the code which he and Rachel remembered.

"Look, I've told you everything I know!" he was saying. "The code's hidden in the wall movements in the Maze - we were going to try and solve it last night, only Patra interrupted us!" I remembered that moment; Rachel, Aris and I had been on our way to ask Marie for some of her wax paper so that we could trace the Maps onto it when we ran into Patra and her lynch mob. Then, Harriet, Sonya and the other Runners turned up - it was my guess later that they'd grown concerned when we failed to return promptly - and that was the point when we learned that the walls had stopped closing, followed by Patra stabbing herself. For me, however, the shock of her self-inflicted death had been eclipsed by what had happened to Christie a matter of hours later.

"What do you think we should do?" Sonya asked Aris, speaking to him as though he was a veteran of this place, not someone who had only been here for a few days, most of which had been spent in a coma.

"You've got the Maps," Aris replied. "Some of you . . . sticks can get to work on tracing them." I noticed that he paused slightly between "you" and "sticks", as though he wasn't entirely comfortable with the slang we had developed. "The Runners can go out into the Maze and," he added, "I think they should stay out there overnight."

Shocked muttering greeted Aris's words. Stay in the Maze overnight? Even Yoko, the Keeper of the Runners, was reluctant to take the risk. Aris, however, argued that, if the Doors had stopped closing, it might mean something had opened up, but we wouldn't know unless we investigated the Maze, really investigated it. And that meant staying out there for however long it took to find the solution.

"Oh, yeah?" said Irene. She had, I recalled, been part of Patra's mob. "What makes you think you've got all the answers?"

"I didn't say that," Aris shot back. "But, unless we solve the Maze, we're all going to die. I think the Creators are giving us a little push . . ."

"Yes, towards our doom!" It was Martha who spoke. She was one of those who had been through the Changing and I thought for a moment she was going to flip out and try to attack Aris. But, before she could say anything more, Harriet spoke up.

"I think Aris is right," she said. "It's time to explore the Maze properly. Yoko, you and the other Runners must pack whatever you need to survive a night out there." She looked as though she was going to add that the Grievers would hopefully be too busy in the Glade to attack anyone in the Maze, but thought better of it. "The rest of us will shore up the Dwelling as best we can. And we'd better bury Patra while we're at it."

I actually found myself looking forward to the task the other Runners and I had been appointed to do. Not only was I as anxious to find a solution as everyone else, I needed to do something to take my mind off Christie.

* * *

Indira and I entered the Maze through the South Door as we always did. We had done this many times before, but this time felt different somehow. Maybe it was the fact that we were not going in there to map the corridors, but to see if something had opened up. Or would open up, assuming the walls in the Maze still moved. And we would have no way of knowing unless we stayed out there for as long as possible, which meant spending the night in the Maze.

We didn't bother to take notes, not that it would have made any difference because it soon became clear that nothing had changed since yesterday; all the corridors were exactly the same. But we kept going, telling ourselves that this could be it, the day an exit finally revealed itself. When we reached the end of Section F, we didn't turn round and head back like we usually did. Instead, we sat down with our backs pressed against the wall and waited for something to happen . . . and waited.

Hours passed. Indira and I took it in turns to go to sleep, each of us promising to wake the other up if anything happened. But what happened was precisely nothing; the walls resolutely remained in the same configuration as yesterday, with no sign of an exit opening up. Eventually, at just after seven o'clock in the morning, we were forced to the inevitable conclusion.

"I don't think anything's going to change," I said, looking across at Indira.

"Doesn't look like it." She got up and brushed herself down. "Come on, let's head back. Hopefully one of the other teams have had better luck."

* * *

But, when Indira and I emerged from the Maze, it soon became clear that the other three pairs of Runners hadn't found anything either. We all met up in the middle of the Glade, our dragging footsteps and dejected expressions mirroring each other, telling their own stories. Even so, the Runners in each pair asked their fellows the same question. "Did you find anything?"

The answer was always the same, something along the lines of: "No, nothing." Yoko and Sarah had followed a couple of Grievers as far as the Cliff at Section H, where they had lost track of them, but no-one had seen any signs of an exit opening up. It looked as though Aris's suggestion that we spend the night in the Maze had been a complete waste of time. There was, to put it bluntly, no way out - unless we could solve the code Rachel and Aris had told us about.

"Come on," Yoko said at last. "We'd better tell Harriet and Sonya we lucked out."

Before long, she was standing before our two leaders as the rest of us hovered nearby, explaining that nothing had changed out in the Maze, that there was no sign of an exit opening up anywhere. Harriet and Sonya listened in silence, neither of them speaking until Yoko had finished making her report. It was Harriet who was the first to break the ensuing silence. "Well, you'd better find an answer or we're all dead."

"What do you mean?" I found myself asking.

Harriet cleared her throat. "For one thing, the supplies didn't come yesterday like they were supposed to. For another . . ." She paused for several seconds which felt far longer than they were in reality. ". . . the Grievers attacked again last night. We've lost Samantha."


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

It took us a few seconds to take in what Harriet had said, but we all realised the significance immediately. Not only had we lost two people to the Grievers in as many nights, the weekly delivery of supplies hadn't arrived. And, since the "sun" had disappeared, making it impossible for us to grow our crops, that meant we were in serious trouble, not least because the supplies we had stored wouldn't last forever. Sooner or later, unless the deliveries started again, we would be facing death from starvation. And, if that didn't get us, the Grievers would. First Christie, now Samantha. I didn't know the latter very well, but, if the Grievers attacked again tonight, they could carry off Indira, or Flossie, or even me. Put simply, any of us could be next.

And, with no new kids being sent up in the Box, we could end up being completely wiped out. At present, there were forty-six of us left, but how many would there be when this was over? None, unless we could find a way out of this fuzzing place. And, with our overnight stay in the Maze having yielded no results, there was only one possible answer left. "Made any progress on that code?" I asked, voicing out loud the question I knew my fellow Runners were longing to ask.

Harriet paused for several seconds. "Well . . . yes and no."

"Yes and no?" echoed Yoko. "What kind of answer is that?"

"Yes, we've made progress on the code," said Harriet. "No, we don't know what it all means." She went on to explain that several people, including Sonya, Aris and herself, had spent hours tracing the Maps, then placing the ones for each day on top of each other as Rachel had suggested. On each day, a letter of the alphabet formed in the middle of the combined Maps and, over the next few days, a word was spelled out. "See for yourselves," said Harriet, handing a piece of paper to Yoko. That piece of paper was quickly passed around until all eight Runners had had a look at it and seen for themselves the six words that had been written on it:

 _THINK  
GRADE  
WORST  
SLIME  
MOUND  
PUSH_

Six seemingly random words, five containing five letters, one containing four. "What's it supposed to mean?" I asked, after spending several seconds studying the list, trying to see a connection between the words. But, try as I might, I couldn't see one, certainly not anything that could help us to get out of here. They seemed to be just words, words which the Maze had been spelling out for the past two years. But why? If their purpose wasn't to show us a way out, what were those words for?

Harriet shrugged. "I told you, we don't know. But that's the right order. The sequence goes: think, grade, worst, slime, mound, push. Over and over."

* * *

Indira and I ended up lying on the dying grass, staring up at the grey "sky", which looked oppressively close. Rachel, I recalled, had compared it to a ceiling and that's exactly what it was, the ceiling of the vast room that was our prison. A prison guarded by nightmarish creatures which had, after confining themselves to the Maze for two years, started coming into the Glade and picking us off. If this kept up and we couldn't find a way out of here, all of us would be dead within a matter of weeks. But was there even a way out?

"Indira?" I ventured.

She propped herself up on one arm and turned to look at me. "Hmm?"

"Do you think there _is_ a way out? I mean, that code's about as close as we've come to solving the Maze and it doesn't seem to mean anything." I thought of those six words - think, grade, worst, slime, mound, push - but I was still no nearer to working out the connection between them than I had been when I first saw the list.

Indira made no reply, but I could tell from her body language that she was feeling discouraged, which wasn't like her. Clearly, the events of the past few days - the "sun" disappearing, the "sky" turning grey, the Doors no longer closing, the Grievers coming into the Glade and carrying people off, the seemingly useless code - were starting to get to her. When Rachel and Aris told us about the code, we thought it would solve all our problems. Instead, all those who had been working on solving it had found was a list of words which had no obvious connection to each other. Apart from the fact that none of them seemed to be pointing us towards an exit . . .

Suddenly, I found myself looking in the direction of the Box, feeling a surge of excitement at the idea which had occurred to me. "Indira, I . . .!"

Seeing where I was looking, she cut me off before I could say another word. "No way! Remember what happened when Hayley and Astrid tried that stunt?"

"Yeah, they got sliced in two." I grimaced as I recalled the moment Harriet and Sonya pulled up Hayley and Astrid's severed torsos after the two friends tried to escape via the Box Hole. "But," I said, hurrying on, "what if that trap doesn't work any more? I mean, the Creators have disabled pretty much everything else around here. Well, apart from the Grievers . . ." I trailed off as I recalled how we had lost two people to the Grievers in as many nights. And I needed no-one to tell me they would attack again tonight.

"Well, I'm not chancing it," said Indira. "And besides, I don't think the Creators would make it that easy for us to get out of here."

* * *

I huddled against the wall with the rest of those who shared my room, just nine of us now. Christie was dead; I felt a pang of grief as I looked in the direction of the boarded-up window, which Eve and her Builders had repaired following the Griever's attack, recalling the moment the youngest person in the Glade was dragged to her doom. Rachel was in the Changing Room, going through the same process which Henrietta, Patra, Martha and Beth had been through, and Aris was in there with her. According to Flossie, he wouldn't leave her side, not even to eat; his meals were delivered to him by Marie or one of her Cooks.

Anyway, the room was less crowded than it had been two nights ago, though it pained me to remember why. After all, Rachel had been stung in a futile attempt to save Christie from the Grievers. And Christie had been so young; she'd had no business being in a place like this. None of us did, but it was looking increasingly unlikely that all of us (those who'd made it this far) would get out of here alive. Indira was right; the Creators had no intention of making things easy for us. All we could do was hope they didn't make things so hard that none of us survived long enough to escape.

Outside, the Grievers were moving inexorably towards the Dwelling, no doubt to claim another victim. My room-mates and I kept as far away from the window as possible, not that this would help us if the Grievers chose to target this room again. As we knew from experience . . . Then, we heard it, the sound of a Griever breaking through a barricade somewhere in the Dwelling. This was followed by people screaming, then footsteps pounding as those in the room the Griever had targetted attempted to flee for their lives. One of them, however, was not quick enough.

"It's taken Polly!" I heard someone scream. Indira's voice. Without any ill-will towards Polly, another girl with whom I was at best on nodding terms, I felt a surge of relief that at least the Grievers hadn't taken another of my friends. But it was quickly replaced by a feeling of guilt as I imagined how Polly's friends must be feeling right now; I'd been through the same thing when Christie was taken. I listened to the sounds of the Grievers retreating back to the Maze, wondering as I did so why their attacks on us had followed the same basic pattern for three nights in a row: break into the Dwelling, grab some poor kid at random, head back to the Maze. We'd expected them to attack us in force, not pick us off one by one. It was almost as though they were playing with us. But why? What purpose could launching repeated attacks on a bunch of teenagers and killing precisely one of them each time serve?

I had no way of knowing. All I knew was that our little community was in danger of being wiped out, unless we could figure out what the list of six words that Harriet, Sonya, Aris and the others had come up with had to do with getting out of here.

Forty-five of us left.

* * *

The mood the next day was as grey and sombre as the "sky" above our heads. We ate our breakfast in silence, trying not to think about the fact that there was yet another empty chair, trying not to wonder how many chairs would wind up empty before we were through here. We used to go weeks, even months, between deaths, but, since Rachel and Aris arrived, we'd lost six people over a period of less than two weeks. Not that I believed Rachel and Aris had anything to do with what was happening, not in the way some people seemed to think. Over the past few days, I'd heard people, mostly those who'd been members of Patra's lynch mob, talking about how we "needed to do something about those traitors"; fortunately, all they'd done so far was talk. But, with things the way they were in the Glade right now, there was no telling when someone might decide the time had come to take action.

Anyway, we ate in silence, a silence that was broken by Harriet getting up to give us our instructions for the day. "Eve, you and the Builders must repair our defences," she said. "Try to salvage as much material as possible; we can't afford to waste anything now that our supplies have been cut off. And, talking of supplies, we'd better take stock of the food we have stored. Marie and the Cooks can do that. Runners, into the Maze. The rest of you . . ."

Before Harriet could finish her sentence, Yoko got to her feet. "What for? What's the point in going back into the Maze? We already know there's no way out."

"But you've got something you didn't have two days ago," Harriet reminded her. "The code words. I want you and the other Runners to scour the Maze, see if you can find a use for them." She cleared her throat and picked up the thread of what she had originally been saying. "The rest of you must go about your duties and try to remain calm." Not that Helen and her Gardeners had any duties now; they'd already salvaged as many of our crops as they could and the lack of artificial sunlight meant there was no point trying to grow more. Victoria and her Farmers were trying to keep our livestock alive, but it was looking increasingly likely that they would have to slaughter them.

"I know things have been tough over the last few days," Harriet went on. "But we're all in this together and, somehow, we're going to find a way to get out of this together." I noticed that she didn't say anything about all of us getting out.

* * *

As we had expected, Indira and I found the layout of Sections E and F unchanged from two days ago, confirming that the Maze had essentially been shut down. But that no longer mattered. We had a new task to perform: find a use for the code which Rachel and Aris had told us about. "Do you remember what the words were?" Indira asked as we made our way up one of the corridors, both of us keeping a tight grip on the knives we always carried when we were in the Maze. Even though the Grievers seemed to have stopped showing up during the day, we weren't prepared to take any chances; there was always the risk that the Creators could start sending the nightmarish creatures after the Runners again.

"Think, grade, worst, slime, mound, push," I recited, counting each word off on my fingers as I said it. "What do you think it all means?"

"That's what we're here to try and find out." Indira looked at the ivy-covered wall in front of her, studying it closely as if she was trying to visualise something. "Hey! Maybe the words are on the walls, hidden under all this ivy." She started cutting the vines away with her knife and I followed her lead. It was hard work - those ivy vines were tough - but we eventually cleared enough of them to reveal . . . a blank wall. No sign of any words, least of all the ones which formed the code. But we didn't let this discourage us; maybe, we told ourselves, the words were concealed behind another lot of ivy. We just had to keep looking.

After several hours, however, we _were_ getting discouraged. We'd cut away all the ivy we could reach, but the only writing we'd found was on those:

 _WORLD IN CATASTROPHE:  
KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT_

signs. And we'd long since stopped paying attention to them. Looking back, I suppose the _WORLD IN CATASTROPHE_ part should have alerted us to the fact that, even if we did manage to escape from here, we would not be going back to a nice, cosy world to be reunited with parents who had been out of their minds with worry. But, for all we knew, those words had been put there in an attempt to scare us and didn't actually mean anything. In any case, we found none of the code words on the walls.

* * *

It was while we were taking a rest at the end of Section F that I had another idea. "What if we tried saying the words?" I suggested. "Maybe it'll cause something to open up."

"Come again?"

"There's a story I remember," I explained. "I can't remember what it was called or who the characters were. But I remember there was a cave in it that had a boulder in front of it and, if you said the right words, the cave would open." As with so many things, I could remember what stories were, even what individual stories were about, but nothing more specific than a few general plot details. I couldn't even recall if I liked the story I'd mentioned; I just knew it existed. "So I thought we could try saying the code words and see what happens."

Indira paused to consider my suggestion. Finally, she shrugged. "Why not? We've nothing to lose."

We turned to face the wall and, taking a deep breath, shouted: "Think! Grade! Worst! Slime! Mound! Push!"

Nothing. There was no sign of an exit opening up in front of us. We tried saying the words alternately, then I tried saying them on my own, followed by Indira. But, no matter how many times we said those six words, no matter which of us said them, the result was always the same. Clearly, if there was a way out of the Maze, it didn't lie at the end of Section F.

"So much for that idea," I said after a while. "Let's head back."

* * *

Of course, with the Doors open all the time, the Glade was no longer the safe haven it had once been. For the third time in four nights, I found myself huddled against the far wall along with my room-mates, listening as the Grievers converged on the Dwelling. Once again there was the sound of a Griever breaking in, followed by several screams, one of which was cut off abruptly as some unlucky stick became the latest victim of the nightly Griever attacks. And this particular Griever had targetted the room right next to mine, so I recognised whose scream had been cut off. It was Joan, the Keeper of the Cleaners and one of the twelve girls who'd been gathered around the Box when I first arrived. Once again, I was torn between relief that it wasn't Indira, or Flossie, or even myself and guilt that Joan had to die in such a horrible way so that my friends and I might live for at least one more day.

And how much longer could we go on like this anyway? Our supplies were cut, our "sun" was gone - we'd now resigned ourselves to the fact that our "sky" wasn't going to be restored any time soon - and the Grievers were picking us off one-by-one. The loss of Joan meant we were now down to forty-four. Our only hope of survival was to find a way out of here and the only clue we had was a list of random words which the Maze had been spelling out over and over for two years, but which we weren't aware of until Rachel and Aris told us about the code. And we still hadn't figured out what those words had to do with escaping. It was like trying to put a jigsaw together when you know a vital piece is missing; whichever way you look at it, the picture is always going to be incomplete. And, in our case, the missing piece was the final clue we needed to get us out of here and, hopefully, save at least some of us.

But, as I huddled against the wall, I had no idea that the hour of our escape was closer than I thought, that tonight was the last night I would spend in the Glade.


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

We were just finishing our breakfast when Harriet announced that there was going to be an Emergency Meeting.

These words were greeted with what was, at best, a lukewarm reception, followed by several muttered conversations among groups of friends. I couldn't make out what everyone was saying, but I heard enough to know that most people thought this latest Emergency Meeting would be a waste of time. After all, we already knew we were in the middle of an emergency; our "sky" had been switched off and the Doors were no longer closing at night, allowing the Grievers to come into the Glade and drag people to their doom. We didn't need a meeting, Emergency or otherwise, to figure that out.

Nevertheless, when the time came, all of us assembled in the usual spot; it wasn't like there was much else to do around here at present anyway. Harriet and Sonya took their positions in front of us, as did the Keepers - Yoko, Flossie, Victoria, Helen, Marie and Eve - leaving a gap in Joan's place. A gap which reminded me of how vulnerable we were; even though Joan was a Keeper, this had not protected her from the Grievers. So any of us could be next, including either of our two leaders. Fortunately, the Grievers had so far stuck to their pattern of only killing one person each night, but there was no telling when they might change their tactics and start claiming more victims each time they invaded the Glade. If so, our little community could soon be completely wiped out.

Harriet nodded to Sonya, who entered the Dwelling and returned a few moments later, accompanied by Rachel. The latter had obviously recovered from the Changing; there was no sign of the green veins which had covered her body for the past few days. Nor was there any sign of the haunted look I had seen on the faces of Henrietta, Patra, Martha and Beth. Instead, Rachel's face bore the expression of someone who has important information to reveal and only a short window in which to do it. And something told me it had to do with whatever she had seen during the Changing.

"What's she doing there?" someone demanded. I couldn't see who it was.

"I think we'd better let her tell us," said Sonya, turning to Rachel.

Rachel cleared her throat. "Well, first of all, we're all here because the Creators stole us," she began.

"Tell us something we don't know!" The same person who had wanted to know what Rachel was doing standing in a position normally reserved for Harriet, Sonya and the Keepers.

Ignoring the interruption, Rachel continued. "And, while I was going through the Changing, I had glimpses of _why_ they stole us. Most of it's faded now, but I remember that something had gone badly wrong in the world and the Creators needed us to help put it right. So they took us from our families and brought us to their headquarters. We were very young at the time; I think most of us would have been about five to seven years old. Anyway, the Creators brought us to their headquarters, where they took away everything we brought with us, even our names."

"Then where did our names come from?" It was Indira, standing beside me, who asked this question.

"The Creators gave us new names," Rachel replied. "Names based on famous people. For example, you were named for Indira Gandhi, Flossie for Florence Nightingale, Jenny for Edward Jenner . . . and so on. In any case," she went on, "we spent the next ten years or so at the Creators' headquarters, before they started wiping our memories and sending us to the Glade. They sent thirty to begin with, then one each month, ending with Aris and me."

* * *

When I'd woken up in the Box, the one thing I'd been able to remember about myself was that my name was Jenny. But, from what Rachel was saying, it wasn't, or at least it wasn't the name my parents had chosen for me. Rather, it was what the Creators had decided to call me when they took me from the family I couldn't remember and brought me to their headquarters. I suspected I would never know what I had originally been called, even if I went out and got myself stung by a Griever so that I could go through the Changing. Not that I was going to do anything so stupid just to find out my real name; I'd already seen what the Changing did to people, though I couldn't think why Rachel hadn't gone nuts like the others who'd been through the same process. Besides, I'd grown used to being called Jenny.

"This whole thing has been a test," Rachel was saying. "The Creators wanted to see how we'd react when faced with a problem that had no answer. Like the Maze. The reason no-one's ever found the solution is because there isn't one, but we couldn't accept that. So, day after day for more than two years, the Runners kept on looking for a way out. But, of course, they never found one. It was all a test to see if they would lose heart, if they would . . ."

"And what about the sticks who've died in the Maze?" asked Cass. "What was that all about?" Looking at her, I recalled how her original partner, Caroline, had been among the fatalities. Indeed, of the eight girls who'd been Runners when I first arrived, only Yoko, Kate and Cass were still alive.

"All part of the test," Rachel replied, without any hint of emotion in her voice. "And so is everything that's been happening lately. The Creators want to push us to the limit, so they're weeding people out until only the best remain." I felt a small stab of grief at the thought of Christie being "weeded out", but forced myself to ignore it and continue listening to what Rachel was saying. "And those are the ones who are going to escape," she added in the same matter-of-fact tone.

It was Yoko who asked the question which was on everyone's minds following Rachel's last statement. "And how are we going to escape? You just said there's no way out of here."

"Yes, there is," Rachel told her. "The Cliff. There's an invisible Hole just above it, about halfway across. That's where the Grievers enter the Maze - and it's also where we'll get out. I'm not saying it won't be dangerous," she added, before anyone could butt in with comments about her wanting us all to commit suicide. "We'd have to deal with the Grievers, but the Hole leads to a chamber with a computer terminal. All we need is for at least one of us to make it through the Hole and enter the code words into the computer. Then the Grievers will shut down and we can get out of here."

"If any of us are alive to get out of here after tangling with the Grievers." This comment came from Dido, who was standing with her arms folded across her chest.

"I think most of us will be," said Rachel. "The Grievers are only killing one person each night, so hopefully they'll keep to that pattern. Look," she added, holding up her hand to stall any objections, "I don't like it any more than you, but it's a choice between meeting the Grievers on their home turf or waiting for them to wipe us all out. And at least the first option gives most of us a chance. If we stay here, we'll all be dead in a few weeks."

* * *

The long silence which followed was presently broken by Ruth. "How do you know all this?" she asked, a hint of suspicion creeping into her voice.

Rachel took a deep breath before replying. "It's to do with what I was doing before I came here. When I was going through the Changing, I . . ." She paused, trying to decide whether or not she should say what she was about to say. ". . . remembered working for the Creators. I've forgotten most of it now, but I know Aris was with me and I know we helped to build the Maze. But I swear it was against our will!" she added, as several people started muttering about how Henrietta, Beth and Patra had been right all along. "They did something to my brain, Aris's too, made us telepathic. Then they forced us to help them; that's why Beth said she'd seen me working with them. I don't remember the details, but I do remember that we weren't helping the Creators willingly. Anyway, after they'd sent all of you here, they sent me, then Aris the next day. I think we were sent to show you how to escape."

"And how do you figure that?" asked Marie from her position among the Keepers.

"Because they didn't wipe our memories as thoroughly as everyone else's," Rachel replied. "When you first came here, you only remembered your names, right?" I nodded, as did most of the others. Of course, we now knew the names with which we had arrived in the Glade were not our original names, but that didn't matter for the moment; hearing what Rachel had to say did. "It was the same for me," she went on. "Only, I started having flashes of memory, especially after Aris came. I knew we were both important somehow, but, until I got stung and went through the Changing, I didn't have all the answers . . ." She paused for several seconds. "Look, I can't blame you if you don't trust me, but every word I've said is the truth, as far as I remember. We're being tested, all of us, and we need to escape in order to pass the test."

After Rachel had finished speaking, we began discussing what she had said among ourselves. The options she had set out were about as stark as they could be: try to get out through the Hole she had mentioned or stay in the Glade, both of which meant facing death by Griever. But, as Rachel had said, if we took the first option, there was a chance that most of us would survive. We'd have to act fast, though. At present, each of us had a one in forty-four chance of being the Grievers' next victim, but, after the next attack, those odds would decrease to one in forty-three, then one in forty-two, then . . . Well, you get the idea.

* * *

Though a few people took a little convincing, we all ended up agreeing to take our chances and try to escape. "Try" being the optimum word. We all knew not all of us would make it out of the Maze alive; the best we could hope for was that the Grievers would keep to the same pattern they had followed for the last four nights and only kill one of us, leaving forty-three survivors. But there were no guarantees of that. If the Creators, who, thanks to the beetle blades, were able to follow our every move, reprogrammed the Grievers, our escape could turn into a massacre.

We weren't going unprepared, though; all of us would be armed. In addition to our stash of knives, bows and spears, we had various tools and implements which could serve as weapons. Axes, spades with the shovels sharpened to a point, scythes . . . anything that might offer us some protection against the Grievers found its way into our arsenal. In addition, Flossie, who was in charge of our medical supplies, took the precaution of including doses of Grief Serum in the first aid kits she was preparing, just in case someone got stung, though we didn't think that was likely.

* * *

At around mid-morning according to my watch, the other Runners and I went into the Maze, all of us entering via the West Door, the quickest way to the Cliff. Rachel went with us; she was the only one who could show us where the invisible Hole was. Indeed, she led us to the spot so unerringly that, if I hadn't known better, I would have sworn she was one of the veterans of the Maze. She wasn't, of course, but, according to what she had said at the Emergency Meeting, she had helped to design this place. In any case, it wasn't long before all nine of us were standing on the Cliff, staring into the abyss below.

"OK," said Neffy. "What now?" None of us wanted to chance making a jump for it; if we missed the Hole, there was no telling how far we would have to fall. The Cliff might be an optical illusion, like our "sky" and "sun" had been, but we weren't going to risk our lives to find out. We needed to be able to see where we were supposed to be jumping and, in order to do that, we had to make the invisible Hole visible.

"Watch," Rachel replied. She stood in the middle of the Cliff and threw a stone over the edge, aiming at a spot directly in front of her. As I watched, the stone flew through the air, then, just as it started to fall towards the ground, it winked out of existence as it hit the Hole. It was literally there one minute and gone the next, except I knew it wasn't really gone, that it must be in the chamber Rachel had spoken of. "That's where the Hole is," Rachel went on. "And that's how we're going to get out of here."

We all looked at the spot where the stone had disappeared, the spot each of us must aim for when we made our escape attempt. But what if someone missed? I put this question to Yoko, who responded by pulling out her knife and cutting nine lengths of ivy off the wall. Then she lashed one of the lengths to some of the ivy that was still attached to the wall and threw the whole thing at the spot where Rachel had thrown her stone. As I watched, the ivy hit the Hole and hung in mid-air as if defying the laws of gravity. It was the most bizarre sight I could remember seeing, but I didn't have time to think about it before Yoko set the rest of us to lashing strands of ivy together and throwing them at the Hole. Before long, all nine strands were reaching upwards, pointing towards the exit we had spent so long searching for.

Yoko surveyed our handiwork. "There. Now everyone will be able to see where to jump."

* * *

Having nothing else to do in the Maze, we decided to head back to the Glade and help with the preparations for this evening. It had been agreed that our escape attempt should begin just after the time when the Doors would have started to close had things still be running normally, but that was still several hours away. This would have left us with rather a lot of time on our hands had we not had other tasks to perform. Indira and I were given the job of finding as many empty bottles as we could and filling them with water; so far, the Creators hadn't cut off our water supply, nor our electricity. But, with the way things were going, I had a feeling it was only a question of time before they did, giving us another incentive to get out of here. As if being deprived of our "sun", the security of having the Doors closed at night and the weekly deliveries from the Box didn't provide enough incentives already.

"What do you think we'll find when we get out of here?" I asked, trying not to think about the possibility that the word "when" should be changed to "if".

Indira shrugged. "No idea. But Rachel said something bad had happened to the world, so I doubt we'll being going back to anything pleasant."

"Well, things haven't exactly been pleasant round here lately," I reminded her. "For one thing, we're being attacked by the Grievers every night." As I spoke, I thought of the people we'd lost to the Grievers over the last four nights: Christie, Samantha, Polly and Joan. Apart from Christie, I didn't know any of them all that well, but I did know that the Grievers were bound to claim another victim tonight. If, however, it happened while we were trying to escape, at least the rest of us should be able to get away. I only hoped that final victim wouldn't be Indira, or Flossie, or Rachel; I'd already lost Christie to the Grievers and I couldn't stand the thought of another of my friends suffering the same fate.

* * *

By evening, our preparations were complete. Marie and her cooks prepared a meal which was served up an hour before we planned to make our move, but, even though this was the last meal we would eat in the Mess Hall, there was no air of celebration. We were all too aware of the dangers involved in what we were about to do, all too aware that at least one of us would not make it out of the Maze alive. And that was our best case scenario; there was every possibility that the Grievers might change tactics and attempt to wipe us all out. Still, I thought to myself, at least our escape plan gave some of us a chance.

Presently, Harriet stood up to address us all, as she had done many times before. "It's time to go," she said simply. "Collect your weapons and backpacks and meet at the West Door. We'll be entering the Maze as soon as everyone's arrived." With that, she turned and walked out of the Mess Hall, followed by Sonya.

Ten minutes later, the Glade's entire population of forty-three girls and one boy were standing by the West Door. All of us were carrying backpacks filled with provisions and all of us were armed. I held one of the spades which had had their shovels sharpened especially, turning them from tools used by the Gardeners to weapons to be used in our fight against the Grievers; Indira and Flossie, standing next to me, were armed with a spear and a scythe respectively. Rachel was with Aris, both of them carrying axes, rather ironic considering Henrietta had planned to kill them with an axe. It had been agreed that our two most recent arrivals should be the ones to enter the code words into the computer - if they made it through the Hole. But, to allow for the possibility that Rachel and Aris might not survive our showdown with the Grievers, others had also memorised the code, including Indira and myself.

"How does the code go again?" Indira asked, as we waited for Harriet to give the order to enter the Maze. "Just in case we have to be the ones to input the words."

"Think, grade, worst, slime, mound, push," I replied, wondering who had thought up this code. But I didn't have long to wonder before Harriet stepped up and began to address us all.

"For two years, we have lived in fear of the Grievers," she told us. "Creatures out of a nightmare which have killed twelve of us. And they will kill again tonight. But, this time, they won't take us without a fight!" She brandished her spear. "This time, we are prepared and, whether the Grievers kill one or many of us, we will take as many of them as possible down with us! Because, tonight, we will finally escape from here, or die in the attempt! Now, onward!"

"Yes!" shouted Shelley, one of Marie's Cooks. "Down with the Grievers!"

That served as the cue for an outbreak of impromptu war cries. I found myself shouting along with everyone else as we, aware of what lay in wait for us but psyched up by Harriet's speech, entered the Maze.

* * *

We ran through the corridors of Section G at a steady jog, those of us who had been Runners doing our best to accommodate everyone else. Most of the people in the Glade were not used to running for any length of time; they could manage a sprint, but being a Runner was a job more suited to those who could run long distances. Glancing at a few of the others, I wondered how many of them were going to give out, but none of them did and all forty-four of us made it through the short passage which led from Section G to Section H.

We ran on, our progress observed by several beetle blades as they climbed the ivy-covered walls. No doubt they were relaying our progress to the Creators, who were probably preparing some nasty surprise for us, something along the lines of . . .

. . . an army of Grievers. Just as we reached the end of the corridor which led to the Cliff, we found a horde of the nightmarish creatures blocking our path, all of them with their lethal appendages extended, ready to kill. I saw one with a sickle blade and wondered if it was the same Griever that had killed Ada, but, since one Griever looked much like another, I had no way of knowing, not that it mattered. What did matter was that these things stood between us and freedom.

"What do we do now?" I heard Emily ask. She was with Tegan, both of them carrying spears, and, though she tried to sound as though she was simply asking a question, I could hear the tremor in her voice.

"We fight," Sonya replied, fitting an arrow to her bow. "And hope they only kill one of us."

At the same instant, a Griever retracted its spikes and appendages and began barrelling towards us, producing the whirring saw blade sound characteristic of its kind. As I watched in horror, it rolled right over Harper, engulfing her as Ada had been engulfed. Its fellows immediately piled in and Harper was soon lost beneath a mass of blubbery bodies. I felt physically sick, unable to do anything but watch helplessly as a fellow human being was literally eaten alive. Christie's face seemed to hover before my eyes and I found myself hoping desperately that she'd already been dead when the Grievers devoured her. The thought that anything would eat a living child was too awful to contemplate.

Presently, the Grievers drew back, leaving no trace of Harper, except the bright red stain on the underside of one of them; I needed no-one to tell me what that stain was. Harriet surveyed the Grievers for several seconds before delivering her verdict on the horrific events we had just witnessed. "They have their victim for tonight," she told us, keeping her tone completely matter-of-fact. "Let's . . ."

Before she could complete her sentence, two more Grievers lashed out with their lethal appendages, adding Marie and Wendy to the list of Griever-related fatalities. So much for our hopes that only one person would die tonight. These Grievers must have been programmed to take out as many of us as possible.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Drive them back!" Harriet yelled, stabbing at the nearest Griever with her spear. "We've got to clear a path for Rachel and Aris!"

We charged, weapons raised, towards the creatures which had just killed three of us, none of us giving any thought to our own survival. All that mattered was holding the Grievers back long enough for Rachel and Aris to get through the Hole and input the code that would enable us to finally get out of here. Those of us who survived, at least, and we had no way of knowing how many (or how few) that would be. But, as I attacked one of the Grievers with my sharpened spade, I was determined to do everything I could to make sure that, even if I didn't come through this alive, I took a few of the creatures which had menaced us for two years down with me.

"This is for Christie!" I heard myself yelling as I thrust the blade of my modified garden implement into the Griever's thick hide. Around me, I could see the others also engaged in battle, but so much was going on at once that it was hard to tell what was happening; the whole scene was a blur of clashing metal and whirring motors, punctuated by human screams as the Grievers lashed out with their appendages, occasionally making contact. I'd lost track of who was alive and who was dead, but at least six girls already fell into the latter category.

The Griever lashed out at me with an appendage tipped with a three-pronged fork. I dodged it and fought back with my spade, plunging its specially sharpened shovel into the creature I was fighting, then withdrawing it quickly. Seconds later, another Griever grabbed hold of me with its appendages and started pulling me towards itself. I screamed and tried to fight back, but my arms were pinned to my sides, making it impossible for me to wield my spade. I was helpless, about to join the list of those who had fallen to the Grievers - or so I thought. Just as I was bracing myself for the end, the Griever holding me gave a prolonged cry of pain and released its grip on me. It was dead and, as I looked behind it, I saw Indira pulling her spear out of its blubbery body. Somehow, she must have hit one of the Griever's vital organs, or whatever passed for vital organs in these things. In any case, it was dead, but the battle was far from over.

"Thanks," I told Indira. "You saved my life."

"Well, what are friends for?" she replied. "Now, come on - we've got Grievers to fight!"

* * *

Indira and I stood shoulder-to-shoulder, ready to thrust our weapons into the next Grievers to move. The battle raged all around us, an army of teenaged girls facing off against giant slugs that were armed with lethal appendages. The odds seemed to be decidedly in the Grievers' favour, but we fought on with the tenacity that comes from sheer desperation. And it seemed to be paying off; I could see a few dead Grievers, including the one which Indira had speared. But many more Grievers were still alive and, as I watched in horror, one of them brutally decapitated Golda with a spinning blade.

"How many is that now?" I asked, trying to avert my eyes from the Grievers converging on Golda's headless corpse.

"I'm not sure," Indira replied. "Around ten, I think. But I've lost count."

"Me too," I said. Then, a troubling thought hit me. "What about Flossie? Is she . . .?" I found I couldn't say the last word, as if uttering it out loud would somehow make it true.

"She's alive - or at least she was when I last saw her."

Knowing I wouldn't get a more definite answer regarding Flossie's fate, I turned my attention to the two newest members of our little community. "Rachel and Aris?" I asked, aware that, if anything had happened to them, Indira and I were among those who might have to try and reach the Hole. The code was the key to getting out of here, but it would do none of us any good if all those who had memorised it died in this battle.

"Safe. I saw them jump through the Hole a few moments ago. They must be entering the code words by now."

"So all we have to do is hold out until these things shut down?" I asked, keeping a tight hold on my spade.

Indira, holding her spear, nodded. "Which shouldn't be too much longer. Jenny," she added, "in case we don't make it through the next few minutes, thanks for being my friend."

"You too," I told her. A moment of closeness between two friends caught up in a battle to the death, a battle which either or both of them could end up losing.

Seconds later, a scream from one of the others was abruptly cut off.

* * *

The battle continued to rage. We fought to contain the Grievers, but, though we had managed to kill several of them, their numbers were so great that our only chance of winning this fight was for Rachel and Aris to finish entering the code words and shut the things down. Which, I noted, seemed to be taking rather a long time. "What are they doing in there?" I wondered out loud, thrusting my spade into a Griever's hide, then pulling it free. In the process, I got sprayed with the yellow oil that was the nearest thing the Grievers had to blood, but I'd long since stopped caring about such things.

"Don't know," Indira said, ready to attack any Griever that moved with her spear. "But I'm sure it doesn't take this long to type six words. Something must be wrong." But what? Were Rachel and Aris even still alive? Or had they found more Grievers waiting for them when they arrived in the chamber that lay on the other side of the Hole? What would we find if we tried to go in after them? I did not need to be telepathic to know that those questions were running through Indira's mind at that moment; the exact same questions were running through my own.

Just then, the Grievers, which had seemed so menacing moments before, ground to a complete halt. All spikes and appendages were retracted, all lights went out, as the creatures shut down and became completely inert. I nudged the one nearest to me with my foot, but it didn't react, didn't even move. Which could mean only one thing: Rachel and Aris had done it. They had successfully entered the code words and put an end to the bloodshed which had been going on for however long we had been fighting. We had won.

But at what cost? All around me, I could see girls blinking and shaking their heads as they realised the battle was over. They were covered in blood and Griever slime, their clothes ripped to shreds, but they were the lucky ones; there were many others who had not survived. We had defeated the Grievers, but the losses we had suffered made this a Pyrrhic victory. The only consolation we had was the knowledge that, if we hadn't taken our chances and tried to escape, the Grievers would have eventually wiped us all out.

Gradually, we began to congregate together, all of us heading in the direction of the gravity-defying strands of ivy which marked the Hole. I saw Harriet and Sonya, Emily and Tegan, all my fellow Runners except Kate and Maggie, Flossie - I felt a small surge of relief as I learned that she had survived - and several others. Including Indira and myself, I counted twenty-eight of us, which meant a third of those who had stayed to fight the Grievers were dead. Fourteen lives lost. But there was no time to mourn any of them; our main priority right now was getting out of here and that meant jumping through the Hole. We assembled on the edge of the Cliff, all of us staring up at the strands of ivy that seemed to be reaching into empty space.

Presently, Tegan spoke. "We have to go through there?" she asked, pointing to the invisible square in the middle of the floating ivy.

"That's about the size of it," replied Harriet, studying the Hole closely. "Speaking of which, it looks like we'll have to go through one at a time."

* * *

We decided to go through the Hole in alphabetical order. Which meant Alison - Alexandra had died in the battle with the Grievers - would be the first to make the jump. She stood poised on the edge of the Cliff, then launched herself at the Hole, keeping her legs straight and her arms down by her sides. As I watched, she hit the target and disappeared, seemingly winking out of existence as she crossed through to the other side of the Hole. One down, twenty-seven to go.

Bianca, who had been the youngest person in the Glade since Christie was killed, went next, followed by Cass, then a girl named Donna who had only been in the Glade for a few months. I watched as, one by one, the girls who had survived the battle stepped forward and jumped through the Hole, knowing it would shortly be my turn. Soon, nine girls, including Harriet, had made the leap; as I watched Indira disappear through the Hole, I told myself to get ready to jump. Irene jumped, then Isabella. Jane was another fatality of the battle, so I would be the first of the girls whose names began with a J to go through the Hole. I stood on the edge of the Cliff and, reminding myself to keep my legs straight and my arms tucked in, jumped.

* * *

Jumping through the Hole was like plunging through ice-cold water. Fortunately, the sensation only lasted a few seconds before I landed in a room that would have been pitch black had it not been for the flashlights those who had made the jump ahead of me were holding. They were standing in a group, all of them looking in the direction of the black square that marked the Hole's exit. Or entrance if you wanted to get into the Maze from here, which none of us did; we'd all seen enough of that fuzzing place to last us a lifetime.

Joining Indira and Flossie, I watched as Jody emerged from the Hole, followed by Julia, then Louisa, then Martha, then Mona. The latter was one of Eve's Builders, not that our old job titles mattered any more. Neffy, Ruth, Sarah, Shelley, Sonya . . . One by one, those who had survived the battle exited the Maze until we all stood in the huge stone cylinder that had to be the chamber Rachel had mentioned, the chamber with the computer which she and Aris had used to shut down the Grievers. No-one had missed the Hole, but our joy at finally being able to get out of here was somewhat tempered by the knowledge that there were those who would not be escaping with us. As Victoria was quick to point out.

"What took you so long?!" she demanded, addressing Rachel and Aris. "Fourteen people died back there!" She gestured in the direction of the Hole. "If you'd worked a little faster . . ."

"Take it easy," said Sonya, cutting Victoria off in mid-sentence. "The important thing is that thirty of us survived. The Grievers would've killed all of us if it hadn't been for Rachel and Aris."

"It's OK," Aris, who was standing beside Rachel, said. "We did work as fast as we could and we managed to enter the first five words with no problem. But the computer . . ." He nodded towards the device in question. ". . . kept rejecting the last word. No matter how many times we typed it, it just wouldn't go through, didn't even show up on the screen. But, then, Rachel spotted a button right under the keyboard and, since the last word in the code was "push", we decided to push it and see what happened."

"Looks like you did the right thing," said Sonya. "The Grievers all shut down at once, so we guessed you must have succeeded. But we haven't escaped yet," she added. "We'd better find a way out of here before the Creators reactivate the Grievers. Or send more of them after us."

Rachel pointed down a nearby tunnel. "I heard a door opening over there," she told us. "We need to go through it to get outside; I remember it from the Changing."

We set off in the direction Rachel had indicated. But we hadn't gone very far before we found ourselves sliding down a long chute that was slick with oil and stank of burnt plastic mixed with overheated machinery.

* * *

The chute emerged in an enormous room; the Dwelling would have fitted into it ten times over. I could see all kinds of wires and ducts, computers and machines, but I had no idea what purpose they might serve. One wall was entirely lined with large white pods, forty of them, that looked like oversized coffins. "What could they be for?" I heard myself asking, though I was mostly talking to myself. The others probably had no more idea of the pods' purpose than I did.

"No idea," Harriet replied. "But they look about the right size for a Griever, so perhaps this is where the Grievers go to recharge. They're probably all empty, though," she added, calming any fears people might have of having to face another army of Grievers just when we were so close to freedom. "After all, the Creators did send rather a lot of Grievers after us."

All the same, it wouldn't hurt to make sure, so I hurried over to the pods and looked into each of them in turn. All empty, just like Harriet had said. Heaving a sigh of relief, I rejoined the others, as twenty windows suddenly lit up in one of the walls, revealing the people who had wiped our memories and sent us to the Glade. The Creators. Some were male, some female and all of them wore white shirts and black coats with some sort of embroidery on the right breasts. They were studying us closely, their faces completely devoid of expression, occasionally moving to take notes or adjust a pair of spectacles. Tense moments passed.

"What do we do now?" I heard Emily ask, as we continued to stare at the Creators.

That was a good question. As far as I could see, the only way out of this room that didn't involve going back the way we had come was through the doors in the wall directly opposite the pods, the doors which must lead into the room where the Creators were assembled. On the other hand, we couldn't stay here forever, so . . . Suddenly, a beeping sound, like that made by a reversing vehicle but many times louder, echoed through the room as one of the doors began to open. Fearing the Creators might be sending some new horror after us - as if the Grievers hadn't been bad enough - we braced ourselves for a fight, not knowing how many of us would be alive when it was over. But the only things to emerge were three people, two men and a woman. Like their colleagues, they had something embroidered on their coats; now that I could see them close up, I saw that the embroidery spelled out the word "WICKED" in capital letters. But what could that mean? Before I had time to wonder, the woman, who appeared to be the one in charge, spoke.

"Congratulations on passing the Maze Trials," she said, her tone completely neutral. "And now," she added, as we all started talking at once, demanding to know why we had been made to take part in these Trials, "it's time for the final Variable." She nodded towards the men who were with her and they walked purposefully over to Rachel, grabbing hold of her before she could resist and dragging her into the middle of the room. "Rachel is vital for this part of the Trials," the woman went on. "The rest of you will be allowed to watch, but none of you may interfere."

At the same instant, the door opened again and a fourth person entered the room, a person none of us had expected to see again. Beth.

* * *

It was immediately obvious that there was something wrong with Beth; she seemed to be fighting against something, something that was making her walk inexorably over to Rachel, who was being restrained by the two men. None of us dared to move, even though we had these people outnumbered, knowing there was no telling what might happen if we disobeyed the woman's instruction not to interfere with the events unfolding in front of us. But that did not stop some us from calling out to the girl we had believed to be dead until a few seconds ago.

"Beth! What's going on?! What's wrong with you?!"

She didn't reply, didn't even seem to hear us. She just kept walking towards Rachel until they were standing face-to-face, just as they had done on Rachel's first evening in the Glade when Beth had accused Rachel of being in league with the Creators. Which had turned out to be true, but Rachel had ended up being the one who showed us the way out of the Maze. And, on this occasion, Beth was trying to resist whatever was compelling her to turn on Rachel. "No! I . . ." she struggled to say, as her hand reached into her pocket and pulled out a knife. "Don't . . . make . . . me!" She tried to force herself to drop the knife, but whatever was controlling her proved too strong and, as we all watched helplessly, Beth thrust the knife into Rachel's chest.

Rachel screamed and, as the men restraining her released their grip, she fell to the floor, her life rapidly draining from her body. "No!" Aris cried, hurrying over to his fallen friend and kneeling beside her, lifting her head onto his lap. "Rachel, you can't . . ." The last word came out as a choked gasp, but I needed no-one to tell me what it was. "Not now!" Aris yelled, tears already streaming down his cheeks. "Not when we've almost made it out of here!"

Rachel was trying to speak, coughing up blood as she did so. I turned to Flossie, hoping she might be able to do something to help, but she shook her head, letting me know Rachel was beyond anyone's help. All we could do was watch as she bled to death in Aris's arms. "Aris," Rachel finally managed to say, her voice barely audible, "I . . ." That was all she was able to get out before her head lolled back and she went limp, never to move again. Aris, oblivious to the fact that he was getting her blood on himself, buried his face in her chest and wept.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

I struggled to take it all in. Just when we had finally made it out of the Maze, one of us had been killed, stabbed to death by someone who was herself supposedly dead. None of us had expected to see Beth again; we all thought the Grievers must have got her after she disappeared following Henrietta's funeral. But here she was, still very much alive, which was more than could be said for Rachel, who lay on the floor, her shirt soaked with blood. Aris still held her in his arms as if doing so could somehow bring her back to life. But nothing could. Rachel had joined the list of the girls who had become fatalities of the Maze Trials.

At length, Harriet and Sonya walked over to Aris and helped him to his feet. "There's nothing you can do for her now," I heard Sonya say. But Aris didn't appear to be listening; he seemed to be in a state of shock, offering no resistance as our two leaders led him away from Rachel's body. He didn't even look at Beth, the girl who'd just killed his best friend, but I did. She was standing there, trembling, looking as though she couldn't believe what she had just done. I recalled how she had struggled to stop herself from stabbing Rachel, only for whatever was controlling her to win out in the end. And I recalled the time she originally wandered into the Maze and got stung by a Griever. She'd said something was controlling her then, only no-one had believed her. But what if she'd been telling the truth? What if the Creators had been using her as a puppet all this time? What if . . .?

My thoughts were cut off abruptly by the sound of shooting and, the next thing I knew, several men and women, all armed with guns, burst through the door. Before any of us could react, they ruthlessly gunned down the three people who'd emerged moments before Beth made her appearance. Then, they turned to us; we thought we were going to get shot too, but, though they still held their guns, it quickly became clear that they weren't aiming at us.

"Quick!" one of them, a woman, shouted. "Follow me!"

* * *

All of us, including Beth, were led through the door from which our rescuers had emerged. At least they seemed to be our rescuers, but, after what we'd just been through, none of us were sure of anything any more. For all we knew, these people were "saving" us from the Maze for the sole purpose of sending us somewhere even worse. Nonetheless, we went with them, knowing the alternative was staying here and facing whatever the Creators had in store for us next. So we followed our rescuers, for want of a better term, along a hallway, down another tunnel, up a flight of stairs, on and on until we finally emerged into the outside world.

This was, of course, the first time any of us had actually been outdoors since we were sent to the Glade. But we had no time to think about this before the woman who'd told us to follow her ushered us onto a battered old bus which was parked nearby. Once everyone, including all the rescuers had climbed aboard, the woman climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. The bus roared into life and we drove off into the night, into a world we knew nothing about.

We'd been going for nearly thirty minutes according to my watch when the bus suddenly ground to a halt. At first, we thought we must have reached our destination, but an instruction from one of our rescuers to "sit tight and let them deal with this" told us that wasn't the case. What was going on? I put this question to Indira, who was sitting next to me, with Flossie and Trix (the only surviving Medics) across the aisle from us.

She shrugged. "We've probably broken down; this bus looks pretty clapped-out. I just hope . . ." She broke off suddenly as she looked out the window. Leaning across her - I was in the aisle seat - I followed her gaze and saw the reason for the delay. The bus was surrounded by a throng of people, people who were barely recognisible as human. Their hair was matted and unkempt, their clothes ragged and their faces . . . Every single one of them was covered in festering sores. One man had a jagged scar running diagonally down his left cheek. Another was missing his lower lip, exposing his yellowed incisors. A woman's right eye had, at some point, been gouged out, leaving her with an empty socket. I could go on listing the deformities these people had, but I won't. I'll just say that was the point when I began to wonder what sort of world we had escaped into.

The people outside were shouting, though I couldn't hear what they were saying, and trying to climb onto the bus, their fists pounding against the metal. Some of our rescuers appeared to be trying to get them to move aside, but it was becoming increasingly clear that, in addition to their physical deformities, there was something wrong with these people's minds, something which meant it was impossible to reason with them. So what followed was all but inevitable.

Our rescuers pulled out their guns and started shooting at the throng of maniacs trying to rush us. Every single shot was targeted to kill, aimed at the chest or, in a few cases, at the head. I saw the brains of the one-eyed woman get splattered across the road, at which point I turned away, unable to watch this massacre any longer. Especially with the battle against the Grievers still fresh in my memory.

* * *

Once our rescuers were satisfied that all the people, grotesque parodies of people anyway, were dead, they climbed back onto the bus and we were soon on our way again. As we made our way to wherever we were going, I found myself thinking about those people, wondering what had happened to reduce them to such a state. There was no denying that they were human, biologically speaking at least, but the way they acted could hardly be described as human. They were like a pack of rabid beasts, driven by some sort of mania to attack and try to kill anything that moved. It was as if all their humanity had been stripped away from them.

I turned to the nearest rescuer, a young woman sitting in the seat directly in front of Indira and myself. "Those people back there," I said, seeing the one-eyed woman's face in my mind. "What happened to them?"

"The Flare happened to them," she replied.

The Flare. I'd heard that term mentioned before, by people who'd been through the Changing, but I didn't know what it meant, only that it was something bad. So bad that those who'd had their memories brought back after being stung by a Griever wouldn't (or couldn't) talk about it. But this young woman - she looked to be only a few years older than myself - had been living in the outside world, so she should have at least some idea what the Flare was. I put this question to her and she paused for several seconds before replying.

"It's a long story," she said. "But it all started when the sun flares struck. And these weren't ordinary sun flares; they were so massive that they incinerated vast areas of the world, killed millions of people. Even today, you can still see the effect the flares had, especially in the areas around the equator. Anyway, groups of survivors began to gather together and attempt to rebuild the world. But, about a year after the flares struck, the world was devastated again, this time by a terrible disease, a disease that was deliberately unleashed in an attempt to cull those competing for scarce resources. The Flare."

"Why would anyone do such a thing?" asked Indira. "If resources were scarce, wouldn't people have started dying off anyway?"

"We don't have all the information, but it must have seemed like the right thing to do at the time. And they say it wasn't so terrible in the early stages; at least it killed its victims quickly. But, then, the virus mutated and people started taking longer to die. And that's not all," the woman added grimly. "The Flare eats away at the brain so that the infected person gradually loses their humanity, becomes little more than a wild animal. And you saw some of the physical effects back there."

I thought about what I had seen. The matted hair. The festering sores. The man who'd lost his lower lip. The one-eyed woman. Those people were the victims of a disease that had robbed them of the very things which made them human. "Can nothing be done for them?" I asked. But, even as I spoke, I knew what the answer would be.

"As yet, the Flare has no known cure," the woman replied. "Rumour has it that scientists working in the Andes may have reached a breakthrough, but no-one knows for certain. There is a treatment, but most people can't afford even that."

* * *

"So what's going to happen to us?" Indira asked at length. "Are you taking us back to our families?"

The woman shook her head. "Many of your families will be dead by now," she told us. "And those that are still alive will have long since been consumed by the Flare; even if you met them, they wouldn't recognise you as their own flesh and blood. They'd just see you as prey. We're taking you somewhere you can be safe from WICKED."

WICKED. The same word that the Creators had stitched to their coats. An appropriate name for an organisation which, from what I'd gathered, was in the business of kidnapping children and using them as human guinea pigs. Everything we'd been through over the past two years had been part of some elaborate experiment which only half the original subjects had survived. But why? What was it all for?

Almost as if she'd read my mind, the woman launched into an explanation of who WICKED were and what their aims were. "They're trying to find a cure for the Flare. But we can't let them do so at the cost of so many young lives. We're an organisation dedicated to bringing WICKED down and putting a stop to their cruel experiments. They claim the ends justify the means, but, when those means include torturing and killing kids . . ." She shook her head. "We're also trying to reach the Andes," she went on, "and obtain the cure I mentioned. Assuming it exists and assuming we can make it through the Scorch."

"What's the Scorch?" I asked. The way the woman spoke made it sound as though it was filled with dangers that would make getting out of the Maze seem like a walk in the park.

"Most of it's centred around the equator," the woman replied. "And, as you might expect after the flares, it's a parched wasteland. Nothing but dust, heat and Cranks."

"Cranks?" I found myself repeating the last word. As with the term "Scorch", there was something about the way the woman said it that made it seem like something that was not pleasant.

"It's what people infected with the Flare call themselves. Those whose brains haven't deteriorated to the point where they can no longer comprehend language, at least. The Scorch is full of them. They get sent out there and left to die. Some succumb to the Flare, but they mostly end up killing each other."

I could hardly begin to comprehend the horror of it all. We'd thought our escape from the Maze, costly in terms of human lives though it was, meant our problems would finally be at an end. Instead, we had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, an appropriate expression given what the woman Indira and I were talking to had told us about the world we'd re-entered. A world devastated by solar flares. A world where people were gradually losing their humanity to a disease which turned them into savage beasts. But, for the time being at least, we were safe. All thirty of us.

* * *

Eventually, the bus came to a halt and we were ushered off it and into a nearby building which, according to a faded sign, used to be a gym. But it clearly hadn't been used for that purpose for a long time; all the exercise equipment had been removed, though the changing rooms still remained and these were our first port of call. Naturally, since Aris was the only male among us, he was whisked off to the men's changing room, while everyone else ended up in the women's. We showered and, as I felt the water splashing over my body, washing away all the blood and Griever slime, I found myself thinking about everything that had happened to me since I first found myself in the Box, unable to remember anything about myself except my name.

Of course, I now knew Jenny was not my original name; it was the name WICKED had chosen for me when they took me from my family. But, since I had no way of knowing what I had been called before that, I was prepared to accept Jenny as my name. Besides, like I said before, I'd grown used to it and it was hard for me to imagine being called anything else. As for the others, I couldn't be sure, but I suspected they felt the same about their names.

Anyway, as I stood under the shower, my life in the Glade played out in my mind, occasionally pausing at significant moments. Emerging from the Box for the first time. My friendship with Indira, Flossie and Christie. Becoming a Runner. My first encounter with a Griever on the day Ada was killed. Everything up to and including the battle against the Grievers as, after more than two years, we finally made our bid for freedom. But our escape from the Maze had come at a heavy cost; fifteen people had lost their lives, fourteen killed fighting the Grievers, one stabbed to death by someone we had believed to be dead until a few hours ago. Not to mention that we'd already lost several people before the escape. A total of sixty kids had been sent to the Glade, but only half that number were still alive.

Without meaning to, I began to mentally list those who had not made it. Val, Connie, Linda, Anne, Felicia, Caroline, Hayley, Astrid, Ada, Henrietta, Patra, Christie . . . I stopped at that point, realising the wetness I could feel on my face was not just shower water, but tears as well. I'd pushed my grief for Christie to the back of my mind over the last few days, but, now that the immediate danger was over, all that raw emotion came flooding back. I sank to my knees, sobbing.

Flossie, who was right next to me, knelt down beside me. "What's wrong?" she asked, putting her arm round my shoulder.

Ignoring the fact that we were both naked - well, we were taking a shower - I returned Flossie's hug. "I'm OK," I managed to say. "I was just thinking about Christie."

"I know," Flossie replied. "I miss her too; she was a great kid."

"And she was so young. She didn't deserve . . ." I became so choked up at this point that I couldn't complete the last sentence.

"None of those we lost deserved to die," said Flossie. "If it was up to me, everyone who was sent to the Glade would've made it out alive. But, since that isn't the case, the best thing we can do is be grateful that we survived."

* * *

Once we were through showering, we were given clean towels to dry ourselves and fresh clothes to replace the torn and stained ones we had been wearing when we emerged from the Maze. Dressed in blue jeans and an orange top, I joined the others as we headed for what used to be the gym's cafeteria, where our rescuers had laid on a feast of burgers and fries. Not the sort of thing a gym's cafeteria would normally serve, but that was the last thing on our minds right now. We were just grateful to be out of the Maze, to be receiving the first taste of freedom that any of us could remember. But our freedom had been hard won and, as I ate, I glanced up briefly to see Aris sitting at a table on his own, picking at his food. He clearly had something on his mind and I needed no-one to tell me what it was, though I chose not to bother him about it for the time being.

However, as we were heading for the dormitories which our rescuers had set up - my room-mates were Indira, Flossie, Emily, Tegan and Donna - I happened to cross paths with Aris. "Hey," I said, speaking to him for the first time since our escape. "I just want to tell you how sorry I am about Rachel." Cliched, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. I could have told him I understood how he must feel because I was experiencing similar emotions myself. But that would mean talking about Christie and I didn't feel up to doing that at present.

He managed a slight smile, albeit one that was masked with pain. "Thanks," he told me.

* * *

The next morning, after a breakfast of egg muffins, a group of us, myself included, decided to go out and explore the town. We knew it would be risky with all the Cranks out there, but, after spending the last few days constantly on edge, we couldn't face just sitting around and doing nothing. We headed for the reception area, through which we had entered the gym the previous night, only to find the front door locked and bolted.

"Round the back, maybe?" Bianca suggested. "There should be a fire exit or something."

We looked and eventually found an unlocked door leading out into a courtyard surrounded by a chain link fence. The fence was high, but by no means impossible to climb; it shouldn't take us too long to get over it. But, almost as soon as we drew level with it, I spotted someone approaching from the other side. A woman of indeterminate age, her clothes ragged, her dark hair thin and stringy, her scarred face twisted into an insane grin that caused vague memories of fairy tale witches to stir in my mind. No memories of any specific witches in any specific fairy tales, though. The woman spotted us and immediately launched into a mad, cackling laugh, a laugh which made her seem even more like a witch.

"I'm coming to get you, little girlies!" With that, she ran towards the fence, clearly intending to climb over it and into the courtyard. "I'm gonna slice you all up!" She brandished a rusty knife and cackled again. There could be little doubt that she was a Crank; not only did she have the same look about her as the people who had tried to rush the bus, she was also prepared to take us on even though she was clearly outnumbered. Granted she was armed, but, from the look of her, it shouldn't be too difficult for us to overpower her and get that knife off her. But it turned out that we didn't have to bother.

The woman reached out and touched the chain links with her free hand which, I now noticed, was missing the middle finger. The second she did so, she suddenly started jerking violently, her face contorting, as sparks arced through the air. Instinctively, we backed away to avoid getting hit by any stray sparks, the smell of burning flesh assailing our nostrils. It was all over in a matter of seconds; as the woman fell back and lay still, we heard for the first time a faint humming sound.

"Electrified," said Sonya, nodding in the direction of the fence. "We'd better stay well away from it."

* * *

With the front door locked and the only other exit leading into a courtyard that was surrounded by an electric fence, it didn't look as though we would be going anywhere for the time being. We thought about climbing through one of the windows, but it turned out that they were locked too, all but one, a skylight that was too small for any of to fit through. Sylvia tried smashing one of the panes of glass with a fire extinguisher we found in one of the rooms, but it soon became clear that the glass had been reinforced somehow, making it impossible for us to break it.

"No good," said Sylvia. She dropped the fire extinguisher and sat down on a nearby chair. "Looks like we're stuck here," she added, sighing deeply. "Unless the fence isn't electrified all the time."

"What's the betting it is?" said Indira, leaning against the wall with her arms folded. "Still, there's one good thing about this; at least no Cranks will be able to get at us."

She was right about that. From the look of things, this place we'd been brought to was pretty much impregnable; our rescuers must have a lot of resources at their disposal if they'd been able to turn an old gym into a fortress for thirty teenagers. But there was something I couldn't help wondering: had the front doors and windows been locked and the fence electrified to keep the Cranks out, or to keep us in?


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Three days had passed since our escape from the Maze, during which we had been confined to the gym with nothing to do. At least back in the Glade we had crops to grow, animals to tend and equipment to maintain, not to mention a Maze to map. Here, there was nothing like that, nothing to while away the hours between one meal and the next. So we spent most of our time lying on our beds, only getting up if it was time to eat - food was delivered to the cafeteria three times a day, though we had no idea where it was coming from - or if we had to answer a call of nature.

I was contemplating the ceiling for about the hundredth time that day when Emily's voice drew my attention away from what was immediately above my head. "I wonder what's going to happen to us next." She was just thinking out loud and wasn't addressing anyone in particular, but the sound of a human voice was the only form of stimulation around here. So, even though she had not been part of my circle of friends in the Glade, I attempted to start a conversation with her.

"I don't know," I told her. "It's been three days now and we haven't seen those sticks that rescued us since they brought us here." I wondered what was up with that. Why would our rescuers have gone to all the trouble of getting us out of the Maze and bringing us to this gym only to leave us in the lurch? What was their real motive for rescuing us? The woman Indira and I had spoken to on the bus had said they were an organisation dedicated to fighting WICKED, but we only had her word for it. For all we knew, that part of what she had told us had been a pack of lies to get us to trust her and the rest of her group.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," I went on, dismissing the question of our rescuers' motives for the moment. "But I'm sure something will happen eventually."

Emily heaved a sigh. "I hope so. I'm getting bored being stuck here all the time. It almost makes me wish I was back in the Glade."

"Getting nostalgic?" I asked, allowing a hint of sarcasm to creep in.

"Not exactly, but at least we had stuff to do there. Here . . ." There was no need for her to complete the sentence; we both had a fairly good idea what she was going to say next.

* * *

The following morning began like every other morning since we were brought to the gym. Up at seven, get dressed and down to the cafeteria for breakfast at eight, then a few hours with nothing to do until it was time for lunch. But, as I was about to start on my waffles, I couldn't shake the feeling that something - someone - was missing. A quick scan of the people in the cafeteria with me confirmed it; someone _was_ missing. Aris wasn't here.

I turned to Indira. "What's happened to Aris?" I asked, though I could tell she had no more idea than I did. But one thing was certain. Aris must be in the gym somewhere; we already knew there was no way out, at least not one that wouldn't get us electrocuted. Since the first morning, several Cranks had fried themselves on the fence as they, driven mad by the virus that was destroying their minds, attempted to climb over it in an effort to get at us. For that reason, we rarely ventured out into the courtyard; the smell of burned flesh was unbearable, to say nothing of the things the living Cranks screamed at us, most of which were either unrepeatable or completely meaningless.

Indira shrugged and picked up the jug of maple syrup. "He's probably overslept," she said. "Either that or he's brooding about Rachel." The loss of Rachel had hit Aris hard; there had been a closeness between them that I suspected went beyond friendship, not that I had any way of knowing for sure. Even so, for her to have been killed just when the immediate danger appeared to be over and those who had survived our battle against the Grievers were on the verge of gaining their freedom must have seemed like the cruellest twist of fate imaginable.

"I'll set something aside for him," I told Indira, before starting on my waffles. "And I think I'll offer him a bit of company while I'm at it." I know what you're probably thinking, but I wasn't thinking of offering Aris _that_ sort of company. What he needed right now was a friend, someone who could help him get over Rachel.

* * *

Since he was the only boy among us, Aris had been put up in a room on his own, whereas the rest of us shared dorms in groups of between five and seven, mirroring the sleeping arrangements in the Dwelling. Arriving outside Aris's room with a plate of waffles in my hand, I tapped on the door, softly at first, then louder when he didn't respond right away. "Aris?" I called. "It's Jenny. Are you in there?"

A pause of several seconds followed, before I heard the sound of footsteps from within the room as its occupant headed for the door. I saw the door handle turning and, moments later, a girl with dark hair and blue eyes, a teenager like the rest of us, emerged. I stared at her speechlessly, partly because I'd been expecting to find Aris on the other side of the door, partly because I knew she was not one of our group. The girl stared back at me as an audible silence fell, a silence that was finally broken by the stranger standing in front of me. "Who are you?"

"I could ask you the same question," I told her. Then, realising she might be the only person who could tell me what was going on here, I added: "OK, my name's Jenny. What's yours? And how did you get here? What happened to the boy who sleeps in this room?"

"Teresa," she told me. "I was brought here last night after we escaped from the Maze. As for the boy you mentioned . . ."

I cut her off before she could say another word. "Wait, how could you have been "brought here last night after we escaped from the Maze"? We escaped four days ago and you weren't with us then. In fact, I don't remember seeing you before."

"Well, I don't remember seeing _you_ before," Teresa told me. "But I do remember escaping from the Maze along with a bunch of boys. And I remember some shanks in weird suits gassing me. Next thing I knew, I was in a room and these people were looking at me." She spotted the plate of waffles I was holding. "Is that for me? Good, I was getting hungry."

I'd really intended the waffles for Aris, but I didn't object to Teresa taking them. I'd checked every place Aris could be, including all the other dorms, and he wasn't in any of them. Somehow, he'd been spirited away in the middle of the night and this girl called Teresa had been left in his place. So, rather than let the waffles go to waste, I allowed Teresa to have them. "And you can tell me everything you know," I added. "Sounds like you've got some explaining to do." I wasn't accusing her of anything; I just wanted some answers and she was the only person who could give them. Aside from the fact that there had never been anyone named Teresa in the Glade, there was the matter of the "bunch of boys" she had mentioned. Who were they? And where were they now?

Teresa pushed the door open further. "You'd better come in."

* * *

Teresa and I sat on Aris's bed, now evidently her bed, as she told her story between mouthfuls of waffles. "I don't remember where I came from or who my parents were," she told me. "My earliest memory is of waking up to find myself in a room with a couple of boys looking down at me. I recognised them from somewhere; I still had a few memories floating around in my mind, but they were fading. So I grasped onto one of them and wrote it on my arm - there was a pen and notepad next to the bed I was in - to make sure I wouldn't forget."

"What did you write?" I asked.

" _WICKED is good_ ," Teresa replied. "I didn't know what it meant, but I knew it was important somehow."

From what I knew of WICKED, "good" was the last adjective I would apply to them. But I chose not to pursue that point. "OK, so what can you tell me about the place you were in?"

"It was like a huge courtyard surrounded by high walls," Teresa told me. "And those walls had four Doors that led into the Maze I told you about . . ." As she continued talking, I began to notice more and more similarities between what she was telling me and what I had witnessed over the past two years. Teresa had been sent to another Glade, very like the one I had been sent to, but with one crucial difference. The gender ratio in her group was the exact opposite of my own; instead of consisting of a few dozen girls and one boy, they consisted of a few dozen boys and one girl, herself. And the circumstances of her arrival mirrored the way in which Aris arrived in my group's Glade. She came in a coma, bearing a note saying she was "the last one". When she woke up, everything shut down and the Grievers started attacking at night. She helped her group to figure out their Maze's code . . .

Teresa was just beginning to describe her group's escape when I noticed something on her neck, partly hidden by her top. "What's that?" I asked, pointing. "Some sort of black mark."

She tried to look, but the location of the mark made it impossible for her to see it without a mirror, so I looked for her. I gasped at what I saw. The marking, which stretched from the hollow of Teresa's collarbone to her back, spelled out nine words:

 _Property of WICKED. Group A, Subject A1. The Betrayer._

I read the words out loud, then asked Teresa if she knew what they meant.

"I don't know," she replied. "But they weren't there last night, so . . ." She broke off suddenly and pulled my collar down. "You've got the same thing on your neck," she told me. "Only yours says: _Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject B17_."

"And?" I asked, recalling that Teresa's mark contained two more words.

"That's all."

* * *

Teresa and I were just wondering who could have left these marks on our necks when Indira appeared in the doorway. "What's keeping you?" she asked me. "It's been over an hour." She noticed Teresa for the first time. "Who . . .?"

"This is my friend, Indira," I told Teresa. "Indira, this is Teresa." I was about to tell Indira everything Teresa had told me when I had a sudden hunch and told my friend to show me her neck. Puzzled, she complied, revealing a mark similar to those Teresa and I had:

 _Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject B25. The Mother._

"The Mother?" I repeated the last two words out loud with a questioning tone in my voice. "Why would it say that?" Could Indira have had a child before she came to the Glade? Our Glade, not Teresa's Glade. No, that wasn't likely; if her guess about our ages when I first came up in the Box was correct, she was still a child herself at the time. The thought of someone impregnating a young girl, then separating her from her child and sending her to the Glade was too awful to contemplate. Surely even WICKED wouldn't do something so, well, wicked. On the other hand, an organisation which treated kids like lab rats was probably capable of just about anything.

"What are you talking about?" asked Indira, who was unaware of what was written on her neck.

I read the words out loud, then Teresa and I showed her the similar marks on our own necks. Suddenly, a disturbing thought struck me. If the three of us had been marked in this way, what about the others? Did they have these _Property of WICKED_ marks on their necks as well? And how did these marks get onto our necks without us noticing? Had our memories been tampered with again? This was beginning to disturb me.

"Indira," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral, "go find the others. I think we need to have an Emergency Meeting." Normally, it was Harriet and Sonya who called Emergency Meetings, but neither of them was here right now and I had no way of knowing if anyone else had these marks.

* * *

Ten minutes later, everyone was assembled in the women's changing room. Teresa repeated her story for those who hadn't heard it before, starting with her arrival in Group A's Glade. As I said before, much of what happened next mirrored what happened to my group, Group B, right down to battling the Grievers in order to escape from the Maze. However, though both groups started their escape attempts with just over forty people, Group A suffered greater losses; only twenty of them, including Teresa, made it out, compared to thirty from Group B. Other than that, however, the outcomes were remarkably similar in both cases. Group A even had a boy, Gally, who was thought to be dead until he turned up in their final chamber and, under WICKED's control, threw a knife at another boy, Thomas. The latter had the same telepathic link with Teresa as Rachel had with Aris. But, unlike Rachel, Thomas (or Tom as Teresa preferred to call him) had survived; a kid named Chuck had sacrificed himself by throwing himself into the path of Gally's knife.

"So what happened to Gally?" I asked. "Did he escape with you?" As I spoke, my gaze fell on Beth, who was sitting a short distance away from everyone else. Since our escape, she had tended to avoid the rest of us, possibly out of guilt over what she had done to Rachel. I couldn't begin to imagine what she was feeling right now, hearing about another person being manipulated into committing murder.

Teresa shook her head. "When Chuck was killed, Tom went nuts and started hitting Gally as if he couldn't stop," she explained. "It took two people to pull him away. The shanks who rescued us turned up shortly after and took us to a . . . building of some sort. I don't know what it was for, but I know Gally didn't go with us. He's probably dead by now; he was in a pretty bad way when I last saw him. But," she added, "we'd better get down to business. This is why you've all been called together." She pulled down her collar so that the line of writing on her neck was clearly visible. "Indira and Jenny have marks similar to this, so we figured you might have them too."

Indira, Teresa and I started walking from girl to girl, pulling down their collars and reading what was written on their necks. They all followed the same format: _Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject BXX_ , with a number in place of the X's. A few had an additional designation similar to those on Teresa and Indira's necks. Harriet _(Subject B7)_ , whose mark was hard to read because of her dark skin, was _The Leader_. Sonya's mark identified her as _Subject B4_ ; she was _The Lieutenant_. Flossie _(Subject B9)_ was _The Control_. Most, however, were like mine, with nothing after the Subject number.

Soon, everyone had been checked except Beth. I stood in front of her as she pulled down her collar to reveal the words:

 _Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject B12. The Pawn._

* * *

The marks on our necks unsettled us all, partly because none of us had any idea where they had come from, but mostly because they suggested that we had somehow fallen back into WICKED's clutches. We tried to wash them off, but, no matter how hard we scrubbed, there was no shifting them. In the end, we were forced to the only conclusion possible. The marks were tattoos, which meant we were stuck with them for the rest of our lives. Unless we could somehow get them removed and we didn't have the means to do that.

We were just discussing this new development when Beth suddenly got up and walked away. I was the only one who saw her go and I had a bad feeling about this, so I got up to follow her. It didn't take me long to realise she was heading for the door which led to the courtyard, a place we tended to avoid. So why was Beth going out there? Taking advantage of the fact that I used to be a Runner, I quickly caught up with her, grabbing hold of her just as she was about to enter the courtyard. "Beth, what are you doing?"

She pushed me away. "Leave me alone, Jenny. I have to do this." With that, she opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard, where she started running straight towards the electric fence. I tried to stop her, tried to reason with her by saying we had lost enough people already, but she was having none of it. "Don't you understand?!" she demanded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Ever since I killed Rachel, I've been haunted by her face! I want it to end!" Then, without another word, she literally threw herself at the fence. There was nothing I could do except watch as the electric current ran through her body, fatally damaging her internal organs.

* * *

Shaken, I rejoined the others, who were still gathered in the women's changing room, discussing what, if anything, the tattoos meant. Opinion seemed to be divided over whether they might have some significance or were simply part of an elaborate mind game that someone was playing with us. Indeed, Yoko and Neffy were having a heated argument on the subject, an argument which was halted when they looked up and saw me standing there. Soon, twenty-eight pairs of eyes were looking at me, all silently asking the same question.

"Beth's dead," I said simply. "She electrocuted herself on the fence."

The stunned silence which followed was presently broken by Eve. "Why would she do that?"

"She said she couldn't live with the guilt of being responsible for Rachel's death," I replied. "But," I added as I recalled what Beth's tattoo had said, "I think she was also afraid WICKED might use her to kill someone else. So she . . ."

I was cut off abruptly as an alarm suddenly rang out, the same alarm which sounded in the Glade when a new kid was coming up in the Box. But why was it sounding now? I thought there weren't going to be any more new kids after Aris; the note he was carrying when he arrived had told us as much. Besides, there was no Box in this place. I was just wondering if the new kid would somehow be beamed in - after all, WICKED seemed to be capable of pretty much anything - when blinds suddenly slammed down over the windows set high in the wall, plunging us into darkness.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Somehow, despite the overall sense of panic that pervaded the darkened changing room, two facts registered in my mind. The first was that the alarm which had been blaring out only moments ago had stopped, with no sign of any more kids being sent to join our group. This, however, only deepened the mystery: what was the alarm for if not to announce a new arrival? That was what it had always meant back in the Glade and I guessed the same was true of the Glade Teresa had come from. But not here, it seemed. The second fact was that someone, Harriet, was trying to rally us.

"Light switches," I heard her say. "Who's nearest?"

"I am." Donna's voice. "I can feel them on the wall behind me." A series of clicking sounds followed as she attempted to turn on the lights, but nothing happened; none of the lights above our heads showed even the faintest sign of flickering into life. "It's not working!" Donna yelled. "Someone's cut the power!"

More panicked shouts followed. I could barely make out what people were saying, apart from the odd complaint that someone had stepped on someone else's foot. Until Teresa's voice came out of the darkness. "We need to slim it," she said, using an expression I'd never heard before. I guessed it meant something like "calm down", though I couldn't be sure. But it was clear that the members of Group A had developed their own slang, distinct from the slang used by Group B; I'd already heard Teresa say "shanks" where the rest of us would say "sticks". Anyway, Teresa told us to "slim it" and pointed out that the power might not be out all over the gym. So all we had to do was check the whole place out until we found a light switch that worked.

In the end, it was decided that the ones to do this should be those who had been Runners back in the Maze, which meant Yoko, Cass, Sarah, Neffy, Indira and myself. We set off, feeling our way around the walls, testing any light switches we came across, none of which worked. Not only that, it soon became clear that blinds had slammed down over all the windows, not just the ones in the women's changing room; the entire gym was under a literal blackout. Even the door to the courtyard, where Beth's body still lay, had been locked. What was going on here?

"Someone must be playing games with us," said Yoko when I asked this question out loud.

"Three guesses who," added Indira.

"WICKED, WICKED or WICKED." That was Neffy. "But I thought we'd escaped from them."

"So did I. But, since we found those tattoos on our necks and now this, I'm beginning to wonder," I said. "Perhaps our so-called rescuers were really working for WICKED. Perhaps this is just another test, like the Maze."

"And how is plunging us into darkness supposed to test us?" asked Cass. "Unless they're planning to send a few Grievers after us and make us fight them without being able to see them. It was hard enough when we _could_ see the fuzzing things."

"I don't know," I said. "But, if we wait, something should happen. Meanwhile, let's try and find our way back to the others."

* * *

Finding our way back proved to be easier said than done when we couldn't see where we were going. The six of us were used to navigating a Maze whose walls had, until a few days before our escape, changed their configuration every night, but we weren't used to navigating in complete darkness. We tried to use the walls to guide us as we had done on the outward journey, but, lacking any kind of visual clues as to where we were, we quickly became disorientated. And, almost inevitably, an argument broke out between us.

"This way!" I heard Sarah say.

"No, this way!" retorted Neffy.

Presumably, each of them was pointing in what she thought was the right direction, but, since none of us could see our hands in front of our faces, this didn't do much good. Before long, we were all bickering heatedly, everyone trying to talk over everyone else, making it all but impossible to hear what was actually being said. Yoko, as the former Keeper of the Runners, attempted several times to take charge, only for her words to be drowned out by all the arguing that was going on. Finally, saying she had had enough, she stormed off. But she didn't get far before we heard a crash, the sound of a human being colliding with a solid object, followed by Yoko's voice cursing whatever had been in her way.

I groped my way towards the sound. "Yoko?" I called. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"I bashed my legs on something, that's what happened," Yoko replied. "Feels like a table. Which means we're probably in the cafeteria. But we won't know for sure until the lights come back on or those fuzzing blinds retract." While she was talking, Cass, Indira, Neffy and Sarah made their way over to us, feeling their way in the dark. Soon, all six of us were gathered in a circle, discussing what we should do next. Yoko quickly summed up the situation. "OK," she said. "Here's where we stand. We're in total darkness and . . ."

"Thanks for stating the obvious," said Cass, cutting Yoko off in mid sentence.

". . . we've no way of knowing where we are, other than that we _may_ be in the cafeteria," Yoko continued, ignoring Cass's remark. "So the best thing we can do is sit tight and wait to see what happens. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm beginning to think Jenny may have been right when she said this could be one of WICKED's tests. They could be messing with our minds, trying to scare us. But we're not gonna let them. After all, we survived the Grievers, so we should be able to handle a little darkness."

Just so long as nothing horrible came creeping out of the artificial night into which we had been plunged, I thought to myself. But I refrained from mentioning this out loud.

* * *

I had lost all track of time; sitting in the unrelenting dark, I had no way of knowing how many hours had passed since the blinds slammed down on the windows and the power was cut. All I knew was that it had been a long time since I last ate or drank anything and I could feel my insides gnawing at me, my tongue dry in my mouth. And, judging by the occasional moans I could hear beside me, the others were feeling much the same. None of us had the energy or the inclination to move; we just sat on the floor, waiting for something to happen, some sign that this ordeal of darkness, hunger and thirst was coming to an end. But all that happened was that the time continued to drag and we remained in pitch blackness.

"How long has it been?" I wondered out loud, my voice hoarse from lack of water.

"I can't tell," Indira replied. "At least a day or two, but I've lost track."

"I wonder how the others are holding up." My thoughts had strayed to the other twenty-three girls in this place, to Flossie, Emily, Tegan and all the rest, including the newcomer, Teresa. As far as I knew, they were all still in the women's changing room; they must be wondering what had happened to us by now. Unless something had happened to _them_ and the six of us were the only surviving members of our group. No, I mustn't think like that. I had to believe that everyone who had made it this far was still alive and that this ordeal would soon be over.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep shortly after this because the next thing I remember is hearing a humming sound coming from somewhere nearby. I opened my eyes, not that I'd been able to tell if they were open or shut when I was surrounded by darkness, and was immediately assailed by the sunlight coming in through the window. After spending so long in the dark, the light hurt my eyes and I had to shield them with my arm as I got up and turned to the others, who were all staring at something at the far end of the cafeteria. I waited for my eyes to get used to the light, then turned to see what the others were looking at; this proved to be a desk with a man dressed entirely in white sitting behind it. A perfectly ordinary sight, but the others were staring as though the man and his desk had materialised out of nowhere.

"Where did he come from?" I asked Indira, who was standing next to me.

She shrugged. "Search me. The blinds suddenly retracted, then some kind of opaque fog appeared and, the next thing we knew, he . . ." She nodded towards the white-suited man, who, with his combed-over hair, long nose and shifty eyes, looked like a rat in human form. ". . . was sitting there."

"But what's he doing here?" My follow-up question was addressed to Indira, but it was Neffy who answered.

"Why don't you ask him?"

I walked up to the man, only to find that I couldn't get within three metres of him; there was an invisible barrier in the way, a barrier which felt like glass, but gave off no reflection of any kind. And, I soon discovered, it spanned the entire room from wall to wall, so it presumably extended from floor to ceiling as well. I tried hitting the barrier with my fist; this made a dull thumping noise, but it was enough to attract the man's attention. And he was not happy.

"Do you mind?" he said in a nasal voice, glaring at me as he spoke. "I do not wish to be disturbed until it is time for me to implement Phase Two of the Trials. And there is over an hour to go. If you want something to do, young lady, I suggest you get yourself something to eat, then go fetch the other members of your group. But please don't bother me again."

Sensing that he wasn't going to tell us anything until the time was right, I decided the best course of action was to do as he had said. I made my way over to a nearby table, which was laden with food that had seemingly appeared there out of thin air. Deciding to make quenching my thirst my priority, I poured myself a glass of water from one of the jugs on the table and drank it, sighing with relief as I felt its refreshing coolness flowing down my throat. Next, I picked out a banana, peeled back its skin and took a bite, relishing the sweet, creamy texture; after so long without food, it felt like luxury itself and it was all I could do not to wolf it down on the spot. But I restrained myself; eating too quickly, especially after a period of fasting, is asking for trouble. After the banana, I helped myself to an orange, followed by a packet of cashew nuts, a pear, a granola bar and a couple of cheese crackers. Then, having eaten as much as I could hold, I took another drink of water and set off to fetch the others.

* * *

An hour later, everyone was assembled in the cafeteria, waiting to hear what the man in the white suit had to say. We'd all eaten our fill of the food which had been supplied - none of us had any idea where it had come from, but we were too hungry to care - and we were now sitting at the tables, our eyes directed towards the man sitting at his desk. Any minute now, he was going to tell us about Phase Two of the Trials, something none of us were looking forward to; the Maze, which was presumably Phase One, had been hard enough.

The man pulled a bulging manila file out of his desk and sat rifling through it until he found what he was looking for. "Welcome to Phase Two," he said in the same nasal voice. "I will be going over what you will be required to do and I will _not_ be repeating anything, so I strongly urge all of you to pay attention. Do you understand?"

A chorus of "yeses" followed, accompanied by some nodding of heads. The man looked at us for a few seconds, then continued talking.

"Right, first things first. My name is Assistant Director Janson. I represent the World In Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department." The same words that were on the signs in the Maze, I recalled, though I'd never taken much notice of them. "But, since that's rather a mouthful, we usually call ourselves WICKED," Janson went on. "And, despite what this may suggest, I can assure that we are anything but wicked. We are working towards the most noble goal there is, saving the human race. The twenty-nine of you assembled here are a vital part of our plans, as are our surviving male subjects. By making it this far, you have provided us with many of the killzone patterns we need. Unfortunately, our data is still incomplete, so we're going to make things a little more difficult from now on."

"But, before we go into all that, it's time for a history lesson. As you may already have been told, the world has been hit by not one, but two disasters that threaten the very survival of the human race. First came the largest sun flares ever recorded; their ferocity was such that vast areas of the world were turned into scorched wastelands. This was followed by a pandemic the likes of which had never been seen before, a disease called the Flare which attacks the brain and destroys the victim's ability to feel basic human emotions. Ultimately, anyone infected by the Flare is reduced to the level of a wild beast."

"Naturally, this, combined with the devastation caused by the sun flares, has led to the near total collapse of civilisation. So the governments of all the nations that survived the flares joined together to form WICKED, an organisation whose main objective has always been to find a cure for the Flare virus. To this end, we have been testing you, subjecting you to situations known as the Variables and studying your responses, all in the name of saving the human race. Regrettably, some of you had to be sacrificed along the way." I felt a lump in my throat as I recalled Christie, combined with a feeling of helpless anger at the thought of her being sacrificed for WICKED's cause. "But you can take comfort in the knowledge that they did their bit," Janson went on. "Their deaths were necessary so that we could study their reactions in their final moments and collect the killzone patterns of those who watched them die. All for the greater good."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Did this man really think WICKED were justified in what they were doing? Was any cause, even saving the human race, worth the lives of a bunch of kids who hadn't even volunteered to be used as human guinea pigs in the first place? If it hadn't been for the barrier separating us, I would have marched right over to Janson and punched him in his ugly rat face.

* * *

"And, now that you have completed Phase One, it's time for Phase Two," Janson was saying. "But, first, I must tell you that you should not take anything you see at face value. We have the ability to manipulate your perceptions and we can even control you if we want to. In fact, we did precisely that shortly before you were . . ." He cleared his throat. ". . . "rescued". Except, as you may have gathered by now, your "rescuers" were really in the employ of WICKED. But enough about them."

When Janson said that stuff about WICKED being able to control us, my thoughts immediately turned to Beth, who had been manipulated into killing Rachel, whose tattoo had designated her as _The Pawn_. And, like a pawn in a game of chess, she had become one of WICKED's sacrifices, our first fatality since our escape from the Maze. I found myself wondering if WICKED had manipulated her into committing suicide on the electric fence, but I had no time to think about this before Janson continued.

"To pass Phase Two, you must cross the Scorch and reach the safe haven. If you succeed, you will be rewarded with a cure for the Flare. And, to give you an added incentive, we have infected all of you with the virus." Shocked gasps followed, gasps which must have been audible behind the barrier because the next thing Janson said was: "Don't worry, though. You won't start to show symptoms for several days. And, if you make it to the safe haven and obtain the cure, you will be spared the worst effects." He clapped his hands together. "Right. To get to the safe haven, you must cross the Scorch. And, to get to the Scorch, you must step through the Flat Trans which will appear in this room at eleven o'clock tonight. You will see it as a shimmering grey wall and you will only have ten minutes to get through it before it closes. Anyone who is still in this building after the ten minutes have expired will be killed, so you'd do well to take your chances with everyone else."

"Once you have crossed through the Flat Trans, you must head north to reach the safe haven, which lies one hundred miles from the spot where you will emerge. You have precisely two weeks to complete the Scorch Trials; reach the safe haven within that time and you will be cured of the Flare. However," he went on, "there is one condition attached. There is a boy, a member of Group A, called Thomas. He must be killed and it will be your job to kill him."

These words were greeted with a great deal of angry muttering. What Janson was asking us to do was too much; even if it earned us the cure, it would be at the expense of a human life and there had been enough deaths already, among both groups. From what Teresa had told us, less than fifty of the original hundred-and-twenty subjects were still alive. And Janson was asking us to add to the death toll. We couldn't - wouldn't - do that.

"I think you would if you knew the alternative was being refused admission to the safe haven and left to die in the Scorch," Janson said, as several of us, myself included, made our feelings known. "Remember, we're talking about the survival of the human race. What's the life of one boy, a boy most of you have never even met, in comparison? You will capture Thomas, keeping him in a sack until you are out of sight of the rest of Group A, and, on the day before the deadline expires, you will take him to a special chamber built into the north side of a mountain. You'll know what to do when you get there. And now you are dismissed," he added. "All of you except Teresa. She and I have things to discuss."


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

We spent the rest of the day discussing the mission we had been given, a mission none of us wanted, but which we had to fulfil if we were to obtain the cure Janson had mentioned. The Flare virus was now incubating inside each of us, waiting until the time was right to start attacking our brains, slowly driving us insane. Eventually, we would lose our humanity, become like the Cranks we had seen since our escape from the Maze, grotesque parodies of the people we used to be. Our only chance of avoiding this fate was to do what Janson had told us to do: enter the Flat Trans, cross the Scorch, reach the safe haven, obtain the cure. Except he'd told us that, in order to be admitted to the safe haven, we would have to kill the boy from Group A called Thomas. We had no choice; if we failed in this part of the mission, we would be abandoned in the Scorch.

"Unless he was bluffing," I thought out loud. After all, Janson was from WICKED and they had deceived us before. So who was to say all that stuff about us having to commit murder in order to obtain the cure wasn't another of their mind games? We'd been warned not to take things at face value, so perhaps we would only be allowed into the safe haven if we _didn't_ kill Thomas. On the other hand, it was hard to be sure what to believe any more. All we knew was that none of us were going to risk not stepping through the Flat Trans at eleven o'clock tonight.

"If you mean that rat-faced shank, he wasn't," Teresa said. There was a hard edge to her voice that I'd never heard before. "He and I talked privately, remember? And he told me he meant every word he said about Thomas." She said the last word in a way which made it sound as though she was spitting the syllables out; I also noticed that she didn't abbreviate it to Tom the way she had in the past. "We have to kill him - and I intend to be the one who does it."

"But I thought you guys were . . .?" I trailed off, unable to believe the venom in Teresa's tone. From what she'd told us about herself and Thomas, the two of them had been Group A's answer to Rachel and Aris, best friends, perhaps even more.

"Friends?" Teresa gave a mirthless laugh. "We were, but that was before Thomas did what he did."

I tried asking Teresa what Thomas had done to end their friendship, but she wouldn't elaborate. All she would say was that he "deserved to die" for what he had done.

* * *

At ten o'clock that night, we gathered in the cafeteria to await the moment when the Flat Trans opened. The food which had appeared earlier was still present and we ate as much of it as we could before dividing the rest between the twenty-nine packs (one for each of us) that we had found dumped on the floor, each one containing a bottle of water and a blanket. But whoever had left the packs, presumably someone from WICKED, had also left us something else. A large pile of knives, spears, bows and arrows, machetes and various other weapons, all of which looked as though they could do some serious damage. There was also a sack which I presumed was the one we were supposed to use when we captured Thomas.

Teresa stepped forward and began to address us all. I expected Harriet and Sonya to say something - after all, they were our leaders, whereas Teresa had only been with us for a few days - but, to my surprise, they didn't. They just sat there and let her do the job which was usually Harriet's, rallying us in preparation for what was to come.

"Listen up," Teresa said. "In thirty minutes, the Flat Trans will be opening and we will be stepping through it. If you want to chicken out and stay behind, fine. But remember what that shank said will happen to you if you don't go on this mission."

I remembered Janson's words and so, judging by the looks that were being exchanged, did most of the others. Anyone who was still in the gym when the Flat Trans closed again would be killed. None of us knew how the killing would be done, or even if there would be any killing done at all, but we weren't going to risk staying behind to find out. And that meant all of us would be entering the Flat Trans.

"We'd better grab some of those weapons as well," said Yoko. She was sitting next to Sarah, her former partner from her days as a Runner. "Something tells me we're going to need them."

I had been thinking among much the same lines. Aside from the mission that had been forced upon us, the mission to hunt down and kill Teresa's former friend, there could be any number of Cranks between here and the safe haven. From what the woman on the bus had said, the Scorch was almost entirely populated by Cranks who had been dumped out there and left to die, their minds destroyed by the virus which infected them. I recalled the Cranks I'd seen so far and tried to imagine a whole country filled with people who were little more than savage animals in human form, but that only reminded me of the fact that the same fate awaited us, unless we completed WICKED's mission and obtained the cure.

* * *

By five minutes to eleven, all of us had turned our gaze in the direction of the spot where Janson and his desk had appeared, which was once again protected by the invisible shield. Holding our weapons in one hand and our packs in the other, we waited for the minutes to tick down and the Flat Trans to open. You could almost sense the anticipation in the air, the feeling that we were about to embark on a mission even more dangerous than our escape from the Maze; we'd lost so many people already and I found myself wondering how many of us would still be alive by the time we reached the safe haven.

But I didn't have long to think about this before the invisible shield turned opaque, then vanished altogether, revealing a section of wall which had been transformed into a shadowy grey surface that swirled and danced and blurred. This must be the Flat Trans and this was what we must step through in order to begin the Scorch Trials. We lined up in front of it, arranging ourselves according to the numbers tattooed on our necks; this meant Teresa, as _Subject A1_ , would be the first to enter the Flat Trans. There was no _Subject B2_ , so Emily ( _Subject B3_ ) would be next, followed by Sonya ( _Subject B4_ ), then Mona ( _Subject B6_ ), then Harriet ( _Subject B7_ ) . . . and so on until we got to Victoria ( _Subject B57_ ). I guessed the missing numbers belonged to those of us who were already dead. Anyway, I watched as, one by one, the girls ahead of me stepped forward and entered the Flat Trans, which seemed to swallow them whole.

Soon, the only person ahead of me was Bianca ( _Subject B16_ ), the youngest surviving member of our group at approximately thirteen years old. I watched as she stepped up to the Flat Trans, hesitated for a moment, then walked through the wall of grey fog. Taking a deep breath and making sure my machete was tucked into my belt, I followed her.

The sensation of passing through the Flat Trans reminded me of jumping through the Hole to escape from the Maze; it felt as though I was plunging myself into ice cold water. I emerged in pitch darkness, something I'd hoped I would never have to experience again, especially so soon after WICKED blacked out the gym where we had been held for the first few days after our escape. Except we now knew that we hadn't really escaped; we had simply traded one prison for another. And it seemed we had just stepped into a void. Or was this another of WICKED's tests?

Hearing the voices of the others up ahead, I groped my way towards them - and ended up grabbing someone around the waist. "Hey!" the person yelled. "What's the fuzzing idea?! Let go of me!" Flossie. Of course, she was _Subject B9_ , which meant she'd entered the Flat Trans ahead of me.

"Sorry," I said, trying not to laugh as I pictured the look on my friend's face.

"Jenny? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me! What were you expecting? A Griever? OK, bad joke," I said as I recalled our battle against the Grievers, which had taken place about a week earlier. I cleared my throat. "How many of us are in here?"

"You were the eleventh to come through," Flossie replied. "That means there's still eighteen to go."

* * *

Eighteen very quickly became seventeen, then sixteen, then fifteen . . . Before long, all twenty-nine of us were standing in the pitch black chamber, listening as Harriet outlined the situation. "We don't have any means of lighting our way," she said, prompting several groans from people who thought she was "stating the fuzzing obvious". She ignored them and continued. "So we'll have to use our sense of touch to find our way out. I can feel walls on either side of me, which means we must be in a tunnel. We can't risk going back through the Flat Trans, so follow the sound of my voice."

And so we began the seemingly endless trek through the dark tunnel. None of us knew what we would find when we got to the other end, but, mindful of Janson's warning about what would happen to anyone who stayed behind, we dared not go back. We had to keep moving forward, telling ourselves that this tunnel was sure to come to an end sooner or later. In the meantime, the wall was my guide; I kept one hand on it at all times as I felt my way in the darkness. At least there was no danger of us getting lost, I thought to myself; the tunnel seemed to consist of one long corridor, with no side passages branching off from it. On and on we trekked . . .

Suddenly, I heard a voice whispering in the dark. A old man's voice and it seemed to be coming from somewhere above our heads. _"Go back."_

"Wait!" I called to those walking ahead of me. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Sonya, who, along with Harriet and Teresa, had taken the lead on this journey through the darkened tunnel.

"I don't know," I told her. "Some old stick telling us to go back."

"I heard it too," said Bianca, who was directly in front of me. "Do you think we should do as it said?" she added, her voice trembling slightly. "It could be warning us about something ahead."

"We go on," Harriet said decisively. "You all heard what that stick who sent us on this mission said. Anyone who tries to go back will be killed. Besides, the Flat Trans must be closed by now, which means . . ." She was cut off abruptly as the whispering came again, the words filled with menace.

 _"I'm warning you. Go back or you'll die."_ This was followed moments later by: _"One-chance deal. Go back now, you won't be sliced."_ Harriet told us to ignore it and come on; it was probably a recording that was being used to try and scare us. Besides, we couldn't stay here forever and we certainly couldn't go back, not after we had already come so far. She had barely finished speaking when we heard the whispering for a fourth time. _"You're all dead. You're all going to be sliced. Dead and sliced."_

* * *

Hoping against hope that the whispering voice with its dire warnings was indeed nothing more than a recording intended to scare people off venturing further down the tunnel, we carried on. As we made our way deeper into the darkness, we heard no more ominous whispering, no more warnings that we would be "sliced" if we didn't go back. I wondered what the voice had meant by "sliced". Some kind of booby trap? A pack of Grievers waiting to pick us off? Whatever it was, we would have to fight it in the dark if we came across it, which wouldn't be easy; we had our weapons, but, unless something happened to illuminate this tunnel, we wouldn't be able to see who was friend and who was foe.

I was just wondering how far we had come and how far we still had to go when I suddenly heard the sound of metal sliding against metal, followed by a couple of clicks. Seconds later, I heard someone screaming in agony - and it was coming from directly in front of me, which, since we hadn't changed our order since starting this trek through the dark, meant it could only be Bianca. I groped my way towards the sound of her screams and tried to grab hold of her, only to find that she was thrashing about so much that I couldn't maintain my grip. "Get it off me! Get it off me!" she shrieked, her words punctuated by screams. There could be little doubt about it; something had attacked her. But what?

"Bianca?" I said, aware of the others gathered nearby, but ignoring them in favour of the girl screaming in agony in front of me. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Something . . . fell . . . on my head . . ." Bianca managed to say between screams. "Feels like metal . . . Spreading over . . . my face . . . I can't . . ." That was all she could get out before her cries came to a gurgling halt. I could still hear her thrashing about, but it was only a matter of seconds before that too ceased. As I knelt to examine her, not that there was much I could do for her, I heard the grating sound of something rolling across the floor.

Remembering my days as a Medic before I became a Runner, I decided to begin my examination by feeling Bianca's head; after all, that was the part of her that had been attacked. I reached towards her, only to recoil in horror as it became clear that there was no head to feel, just a neck vertebra that had been sliced clean through. And it didn't take me long to realise that the wet substance I could feel on my hands was Bianca's blood. I screamed almost as loud as Bianca had screamed and backed away, straight into one of the others. I didn't know who it was; my mind was too full of the horror of what had just happened, combined with relief that I couldn't see Bianca right now. Whatever had attacked her had sliced her head off, just as the whisperer had warned.

* * *

"What's going on?" Sonya's voice came out of the darkness. "What was all that screaming just now?"

I struggled to regain my composure before replying. "Something fell on Bianca. She said it was spreading over her face, then she . . ." I stopped, still barely able to comprehend what had happened. "I don't know what it was, but it's taken her head off. I think I heard it rolling away," I added as I recalled the sound I'd heard as I was kneeling to examine Bianca. That must have been her head falling off her shoulders and rolling down the tunnel. I found myself hoping it had happened after she was already dead; the alternative didn't bear thinking about.

"I heard it too," said Indira. "It stopped right next to me, so I picked it up to try and find out what it was."

"And what was it?" asked Harriet, who seemed to be somewhere near Sonya.

"I don't know," Indira replied. "But it didn't feel like a head. It felt like a . . . metal ball of some kind. There was something wet and sticky on it; I think it must have been blood. But what could do that?" she asked after a few moments. "What could turn someone's head into a ball?"

But none of us had any answers. The best we could figure was that whatever had fallen on Bianca must keep spreading over its victim's face until it suffocated them, before eating its way through the neck, causing the head, now encased in a metal ball, to fall off. Horrible. But I had no time to think about this before Teresa spoke. "We'd better keep going and hope no-one else gets attacked. We'll spread out and keep low, which will hopefully keep us out of range of whatever that was."

"Who's the leader round here?" Harriet asked. Then, sensing perhaps that the last thing we needed right now was a power struggle, she sighed. "What Teresa said. And keep your weapons ready in case something comes near your head." Not that our weapons would be much use against the thing which had killed Bianca. There was no doubt that this was another of WICKED's sick tests; someone must be analysing the data even now, drawing up more killzone patterns based on our reactions to the horrors that had unfolded. I didn't know what a killzone was and, right now, I didn't care. I just wanted to get out of this tunnel.

Crouching low, I began to run, telling myself that I must not stop for anything. I could hear the others around me; they were running too, their breath ragged in my ears. It was impossible to tell if we were in the same order we had been in before Bianca was attacked, but that was the last thing on my mind right now. All that mattered was getting out of here before anyone else suffered the same grisly fate.

It happened twice more, both times to girls who were running behind me. I heard the victims screaming in agony, before their shrieks changed to a choking gurgle as the substance which had attacked them spread over their noses, then over their mouths. At least I presumed that was what was happening. This was followed on both occasions by the sound of a ball falling to the floor and rolling away, a ball which, if it could somehow be cut open, would reveal a severed human head. We kept on running through the dark tunnel, trying desperately to avoid the thing which had caused the deaths of three people. Thoughts that the other two victims might be Indira and Flossie briefly crossed my mind, but I shook them off and told myself to keep going.

And we continued like that until Teresa, who was in the lead, called out to us, telling us to stop.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Everyone was talking at once, demanding to know why we had stopped. It had been a while since anyone was attacked, but we all knew we weren't out of danger yet; every second we remained in the tunnel, we risked having our heads turned into bowling balls. So why had Teresa told us to stop?

Remembering the Maze, I wondered if we might have come to a dead end. No, that couldn't be it. The whole point of the Maze was to present us with an unsolvable puzzle; that was why none of its constantly changing corridors ever led anywhere, why it had taken Rachel getting stung by a Griever and going through the Changing for us to learn that the only way we could escape was to jump through an invisible Hole. Our current situation was completely different. We now knew we were being tested and we had been given specific instructions to cross the Scorch and reach the safe haven. And how could we do that if we couldn't get out of the tunnel?

"There's something right in front of me," Teresa said when she could get a word in edgeways. "Feels like a flight of stairs."

"Leading upwards or downwards?" asked Harriet.

"Upwards. And we'd better get up them before anyone else is attacked."

None of us needed telling twice; we had no desire to stick around and wait for another of us to end up minus her head. So, as soon as we heard Teresa's footsteps clanging up the stairs, we all followed, determined not to stop until we reached the exit. We had no idea what awaited us outside, but anything seemed preferable to our current situation, which consisted of us stumbling blindly through the dark while an unknown horror decapitated us one by one. So we ran up the stairs, our footsteps echoing in the tunnel, driven on by a desire to get out of here as quickly as possible . . .

Suddenly, from the very back of the group, I heard a sound I'd already heard three times since entering the tunnel, the sound of someone screaming and thrashing about in agony. I did not allow myself to think about who it might be; I just kept on running, my mind focused solely on getting to the top of the stairs and, hopefully, finding the way out of this fuzzing tunnel. Killer metal balls or no killer metal balls, I'd had just about enough of dark places and I hoped that wherever the tunnel led would be well lit. Of course, I should be careful what I wish for, but I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

As before, the screams of the girl who'd been attacked ended in a choking gurgle; her thrashing stopped seconds later. Then came the sound of the ball containing her severed head rolling down the stairs.

* * *

Shortly after this, Teresa called another halt. "These stairs don't go any higher," she explained, as several of us demanded to know why we had stopped again. "In fact, they don't seem to go anywhere at all. There's a wall right in front of me and the ceiling's low enough for me to touch it . . ." She paused, then added: "When you arrived in your Glade, did you come up through a hole in the ground?"

"Yes," replied Neffy, who seemed to be somewhere near Teresa. "In the Box. Why do you want to know?"

"Because, unless there's a hidden door somewhere, the only way out is through the ceiling. Which means there should be something to release a hatch." I heard Teresa feeling all over the walls and ceiling, trying to find a switch or something that would open up the hatch and allow us to escape from this tunnel. And not before time. We had all had enough of feeling our way in the dark; we wanted to see daylight or at least be somewhere that wasn't pitch black. I was just wondering how long we had been down here when I heard a click which told me Teresa had found what she was looking (or, rather, feeling) for. Seconds later, light flooded the tunnel.

The light was brighter than any I could remember seeing before, even allowing for the fact that I'd grown accustomed to the darkness. I instinctively covered my eyes with my hands, but this was not enough to shield them completely; I could still see the light through my fingers. And the heat - it felt as though we were standing in front of a very hot oven. Fortunately, someone had the sense to close the hatch before we all got roasted. We then had a brief discussion, which ended with Teresa saying she would use her pack to wedge the hatch open a crack while our eyes adjusted to the light. Once there was no longer any danger of us being blinded, she would try opening the hatch all the way.

"Who put you in charge?" asked Neffy.

Teresa ignored her. "I'm opening the hatch now!" she called down to us. "Everyone, shield your eyes!"

I covered my eyes again, this time taking the precaution of closing them as well. Once more, light and heat flooded the tunnel. I waited for maybe a minute or two before I risked opening my eyes and peeking out from behind my hands; the light was still bright, but not as dazzling as it had been when Teresa first opened the hatch. And it wasn't long before my vision had cleared completely, allowing me to take stock of my surroundings.

Everything around us was metal: the walls, the stairs and the ceiling. Three glowing lines, broken only by Teresa's pack, marked the location of the hatch through which we must climb to reach the outside world. In the meantime, I looked round to see who was missing. I already knew we'd lost Bianca and, as I scanned each of the others in turn, I quickly established that Eve, Alison and Jody also hadn't made it through the tunnel, though I had no way of knowing the order in which the last three had been attacked. All I knew was that something metallic had engulfed the heads of four girls, before separating them from their respective bodies. Like I said before, horrible. I hoped we would be able to get out of here before anyone else was attacked.

As I stood there, waiting until someone, most likely Teresa - she seemed to be taking charge more and more, even though Harriet was our designated leader - decided to risk opening the hatch all the way, a sobering thought struck me. Our group had been reduced to twenty-five, the fewest of us there had ever been, and chances were our numbers would dwindle further before we reached the safe haven.

* * *

"I don't know about anyone else," Teresa said after a while, "but I'm not staying here to get my head turned into a shuck ball of metal." She was using Group A's slang; "shuck" and "shucking" were their equivalent of "fuzzing". Turning to the rest of us, she began to outline her plan. "We've already established that it's hot out there, so we'll need something to protect us from the sun. Our blankets. We'll wrap them around ourselves and hopefully it'll stop us from getting burned. I'll go through first with Harriet and Sonya. The rest of you, get ready to follow." She retrieved her pack from where it was holding the hatch open, plunging us into darkness once more.

I heard the sound of three packs being unzipped, followed a few moments later by Teresa's voice saying: "OK, I'm ready. Harriet and Sonya?" They both replied in the affirmative. "We're going through now," Teresa added. Seconds later, the wave of light and heat returned as the blanket-wrapped Harriet, Sonya and Teresa exited the tunnel.

Already, girls were unzipping their packs, taking out their blankets (which were designed to be very compact when folded) and opening them out to wrap around themselves. I followed suit, draping my blanket over myself so that every part of me was covered except my face. None of us failed to cover up, including those with dark skin; even though they were less prone to sunburn than fair-skinned people like Sonya or Flossie, the heat could still get them. We waited, adjusting our blankets to make sure we wouldn't trip over them, wondering what we were going to find when we stepped outside.

As it turned out, we didn't have long to wait before Harriet's face appeared above us, her head covered with her blanket. "Hey," she said. "Are you sticks just gonna hang around all day? Come on - we've got to get going."

And, one by one, we exited the tunnel - and entered a wasteland.

* * *

It was immediately apparent that the Scorch had been well named; we were in the middle of a barren desert, a vast expanse of sand and rocks that stretched towards the horizon. The sun was almost directly overhead, baking the parched landscape with its merciless heat, which meant it was already mid morning. Clearly we had been in the tunnel a lot longer than we had realised, unless . . . I remembered learning that the world was divided into time zones, though, as always, I had no memory of where I had learned this information; it was just something I knew. We must have crossed a few time zones when we went through the Flat Trans, which would explain why it didn't feel as though we had been in the tunnel for as long as the sun's position in the sky suggested. In any case, now that we'd found our way out of the tunnel, we had to trek across miles of desert to get to our destination.

"What do we do now?" asked Emily, pulling her blanket up over her face so that only her eyes were visible.

"Start walking," replied Sonya. "And hope we find shelter before it gets too hot."

And so, with our blankets to protect us from the heat of the sun, we began walking across the Scorch, heading towards the cluster of buildings (a town or possibly even a city) that we could see on the horizon. We had no way of knowing what we would find when we got there, no way of knowing who, if anyone, lived there, but it and the mountains beyond were the only landmarks we could see. So, rather than risk getting lost in the desert, we walked in the direction of the city. Well I say we walked, but, as the morning wore on and the sun climbed in the sky, the heat became unbearable and we slowed to a crawl. Already people were gasping for water, but we had to ration it, knowing it would be a long time before we could refill our water bottles - if we could find a source of water in this barren wasteland. I was just wondering what it would feel like to die of thirst when Harriet called a halt and told us we could all drink one mouthful from our bottles.

One mouthful of water did little to quench the raging thirst from which we were suffering, but, since we could not afford to waste water right now, none of us drank more than that. We were just putting our bottles back in our packs when we saw two figures coming towards us from the direction of the city, the first people apart from the twenty-five of us we had seen since emerging from the tunnel. I watched the approaching strangers warily, remembering what the woman on the bus had said about the Scorch being full of Cranks, remembering how utterly insane the Cranks I had seen so far were. As a precaution, I pulled my machete out of my belt and held it in my hand, ready to use it if I had to. Glancing round at the others, I saw that most of them, including Teresa, whose weapon was a knife lashed to the end of a wooden shaft, had also armed themselves.

As the two strangers drew level with us, I saw that one of them was male and one was female and that every part of them except their hands was covered, presumably as protection against the sun. They walked around us, studying us closely, though they kept their distance from our weapons. It was the woman who spoke first. "Who are you?" she demanded in a gruff voice. "Where'd you come from?"

"Back that way," Teresa replied, pointing in the direction from which we had just come.

"There's nothing there but sand and rocks," said the man. "And, if you'd come in a Berg, someone would've seen it land. So how did you girls get into the Scorch?"

"It's a long story," said Teresa. And, with that, she began to explain as much as she could about WICKED and the mission they had sent us on. "I was originally with a group of boys," she explained. "But I was moved to this group . . ." She indicated the rest of us with a wave of her free hand. ". . . a few days ago, just before we were sent on this mission. We're supposed to kill one of the boys from my old group, or we won't be allowed into the safe haven . . ." She paused for a moment, looking steadily at the two strangers. "We were given a few hours' head start on the boys," she went on. "But we need to get to the outskirts of the city without being seen. Do you know a way?"

The woman nodded. "WICKED have tunnels all over the Scorch; we came through one of them." She gestured towards the man standing beside her. "Come. We'll show you."

* * *

The two strangers led us to an area strewn with rocks which initially didn't look all that different from all the other areas strewn with rocks that we'd passed since arriving in the Scorch, halting next to a flat rock. Again, there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about this rock, until I looked closer and saw that someone had carved _WICKED_ into the stone. The man lifted it up to reveal a metal ladder leading down into a hole in the ground. Taking a flashlight out of his pocket, he descended the ladder, followed by his companion.

We immediately began to debate whether we should trust these people and follow them into the tunnel or continue to take our chances above ground. In the end, however, the need to get away from the relentless heat won out. "We'd better pack our blankets away," said Sonya. "They'll only get in the way when we climb down the ladder. And, besides, we won't need protecting from the sun down there." And so we removed the blankets we had been using as makeshift robes, folding them up and putting them back in our packs, though, mindful of the sun's heat, none of us did so until just before we stepped onto the first rung of the ladder.

Before long, all of us were at the bottom of the ladder, looking up at the square of light which marked the entrance. From the nervous looks that were being exchanged, I knew people were thinking of the last tunnel we had travelled through, of the unrelenting darkness, of the deadly metal balls which had killed four of us. Hopefully, this tunnel would be safer, but, after everything we had been through, none of us were sure of anything any more, including the motives of the man and woman who were the first people we had met since entering the Scorch. For all we knew, they were leading us into a trap that might be even more deadly than the one we had encountered in the first tunnel.

Teresa summed it up best. As the man switched on his flashlight and told us to follow him and the woman, she folded her arms and glared at him. "I don't know about anyone else," she said, "but I'm not going anywhere until you tell us who you are."

"We're Cranks," the man replied.

I wondered if I'd heard him correctly. The Cranks I had seen up to now had been completely insane, driven mad by the virus that was destroying their brains, their bodies covered with injuries, some of which I suspected were self-inflicted. These people still had the capacity for rational thought, though, in a way, that made them potentially more dangerous than Cranks in whom the Flare had progressed to the point where they were little more than animals in human form. Being able to think rationally meant they were also capable of tricking us and luring us into danger.

"We're Cranks." It was the woman who spoke this time. "Both of us." She nodded towards the man. "Not past the Gone yet, but still Cranks. Tested positive for the Flare, got shipped out to the Scorch and here we are."

"What's the Gone?" I asked, though I had a fairly good idea what the answer would be.

"It means the Flare has eaten away at your brain until all your humanity is gone," the woman replied. "You lose the ability to feel compassion and empathy, become little more than an animal. You'll see what that's like if you ever visit our fair city."

"But you might not live long enough to remember it," the man added. "Especially if you run into any Cranks in the advanced stages. And there are plenty of them about. So, if you're planning on coming our way, you'd best watch your step, learn who to trust and who to avoid. You'd also better be prepared to use your weapons," he added. "It's kill or be killed out here. There's no reasoning with someone who's past the Gone."

* * *

Having no other choice in the matter, we elected to let the two Cranks lead us through the tunnel. Thoughts that they could be leading us into an ambush, that they could have an army of Cranks waiting for us at the other end crossed our minds, but we had our weapons to fight with if it came to that. In the meantime, we followed the Cranks as we walked through miles of underground passages, grateful that this tunnel, unlike the one we'd travelled through earlier, wasn't completely dark; the beam from the man's flashlight saw to that. We also didn't have to contend with a whispering voice telling us that we would die if we didn't turn back. And, needless to say, none of us lost our heads to anything, least of all a ball of metal.

In short, the journey through this tunnel was uneventful. We eventually reached another stairway leading upwards, the exit or entrance depending on your point of view. "This is it," said the woman. "The city is only a couple of days away if you'd care to pay us a visit, meet a few of our fellow Cranks."

"Thanks, but no thanks," said Harriet. "We've seen Cranks before and we don't want to visit a whole city of them." The rest of us nodded in agreement.

The woman shrugged. "Suit yourselves. We're heading back," she added, gesturing towards the man. And, with that, the Cranks started making their way up the stairs, without saying another word, without even telling us their names.


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-one**

With the sun so unbearably hot, we decided the best course of action would be to spend the rest of the day in the tunnel and only venture above ground after the sun had gone down. This would enable us to avoid the worst of the heat, though I couldn't help wondering what we were going to do tomorrow. We still had miles of desert to cross between here and the mountains and the fact that we had elected to avoid the city meant we would have to find another, less direct, route. Which meant we risked missing the deadline Janson had mentioned, not that this worried us too much at present. We just wanted to get some sleep after having been on the go for several physically and emotionally exhausting hours.

We unfolded our blankets and made up our beds on the floor of the tunnel, packed in like sardines. I ended up between Mona and Hillary, two girls I'd never spoken to at length, with several people separating me from Flossie and Indira. Teresa, who was nearest the stairs, volunteered to keep watch, a little too eagerly, I thought. Even though Harriet was our official leader and Sonya was second-in-command, Teresa seemed to be taking over more and more, acting as though she was the one who had had the words _The Leader_ tattooed on her neck. But neither Harriet nor Sonya seemed to want to risk antagonising her, so, though they still acted with some authority, they always deferred to Teresa.

As Teresa, spear in hand, made her way up the steps, the rest of us settled down and prepared to sleep the day away. But sleep did not come easily; I kept thinking about what "little surprises" WICKED were going to throw at us next. Janson had warned us that things were going to get difficult and, judging by what we'd experienced in the dark tunnel, he wasn't kidding. We'd lost four people to something, a weapon perhaps, which turned human heads into bowling balls and those of us who'd survived that horror now faced the prospect of crossing a scorched wasteland populated by crazed lunatics. At present, we totalled twenty-five, but who knew how many of us would be left by the time the Scorch Trials were over?

Suddenly, a disturbing thought crossed my mind. What if WICKED wanted none of us to survive? What if, once we reached the so-called safe haven, they sent something to kill us and whoever was still alive out of their male subjects? It was clear that they didn't want all of us to make it even that far, so what would they do to those who did? After everything we'd been through, it was too much to hope that we would get to the safe haven, be cured of the Flare and live happily ever after. No, something was going to happen and it wouldn't be good.

With these morbid thoughts circulating through my mind, I eventually drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Wake up! All of you, wake up!"

I was startled awake, as was everybody else, by the sound of Emily's shout. She was standing on the stairs, a frantic expression on her face. Without waiting for any of us to say anything, she ran down the last dozen or so stairs. "You gotta come quick!" she insisted. "All of you!"

"Why?" asked Sonya. "What's happened?"

"Teresa's gone!" Emily spread her arms wide as she said those two words.

"Gone?" It was Yoko who spoke this time. "What do you mean by "gone"?"

"I don't know," said Emily. "I just went up top to see if she wanted someone to take over on watch so she could get some sleep, only she wasn't there. I tried calling to her, but then I thought one of those crazy people might hear me, so I came down to fetch you sticks." She took a deep breath, then continued. "We've got to go look for her; she's the only one of us who knows what that Thomas kid we're supposed to kill looks like."

I had to admit that Emily was right. As far as we knew, Teresa was the only one of us who had ever met Thomas; without her, the only way we could be sure of killing him would be to kill all the remaining boys from Group A. And none of us wanted to kill a bunch of innocent kids. In fact, some of us were having doubts about the whole "killing Thomas" aspect of our mission, though we did not voice those doubts out loud until much later. And we certainly didn't mention them to Teresa, who seemed to have decided Thomas was Public Enemy #1 as far as she was concerned and deserved to die slowly and painfully for what he had done to her. I often wondered what he had done that was so terrible, but Teresa wouldn't (or couldn't) elaborate.

Anyway, after some discussion, we made our way up the stairs which led out of the tunnel to find no sign of Teresa. She was gone, just as Emily had said. We did find a few footprints in the sand that looked as though they had been made by a teenaged girl, but we couldn't be sure they were Teresa's. Where was she? Was she still alive? Or had we lost yet another person on top of all those we'd lost lately? Before Rachel and Aris turned up in the Glade, there had been only nine fatalities, but nearly thirty of us had died or been killed since then. Had Teresa now joined them? We didn't know, but we decided we'd better go look for her. Fortunately, the sun was now setting, so we wouldn't have to worry about overheating.

Harriet took charge of organising the search parties. "There are twenty-four of us, so we'll divide into groups of six," she told us. "I'll head north with Flossie, Indira, Jenny, Emily and Tegan. Sonya, you take Cass, Sarah, Neffy, Martha and Hillary and head south. Yoko, search to the east with Ruth, Sylvia, Isabella, Donna and Julia. And, Victoria, you'll be searching to the west with Louisa, Mona, Trix, Irene and Shelley. If you find Teresa, dead or alive, bring her back here. Otherwise, if you find no sign of her by daybreak, head back here anyway."

* * *

After wishing each other luck, our parties set off, Yoko's group heading east, Victoria's west and Sonya's south. Meanwhile, Harriet's group, which included myself, headed north, towards the city, though Harriet made it clear that we would not be venturing into the city itself. It was full of Cranks, people whose minds had been utterly consumed by the Flare, leaving them little more than savage beasts in human form. Even armed, six teenaged girls would stand little chance of getting out of there alive.

Suddenly, from the direction of the city, we heard someone screaming. A girl and it sounded like she was in terrible pain, as if she was being tortured. Or was she? We'd been told not to take anything at face value; for all we knew, this was another of WICKED's tricks, one designed to lure us into the city. But what if the screaming girl really was in trouble? I put this question to Harriet, who responded by shaking her head.

"There's no way anyone could scream that loud; someone must've rigged up some speakers." The way she said the word "someone" made me mentally substitute "WICKED". I didn't know if WICKED were behind the screaming girl, but I wouldn't put anything past them after what I'd been through. Nor, I suspected, would any of the others. "Which means it's probably a trap," Harriet went on. "Besides, we're supposed to be looking for Teresa."

"Well, what if Teresa's the one doing all that screaming?" Tegan asked, keeping a tight grip on her knife. "Shouldn't we go check it out?"

"And get ourselves captured in the process?" Harriet asked in reply. She shook her head again. "We'll carry on looking for Teresa in the desert, but we are not entering that city under _any_ circumstances. Apart from anything else, we've got a deadline to worry about."

A deadline. In all the excitement of Teresa going missing, I'd almost forgotten that we'd been given exactly two weeks to reach the safe haven and obtain the cure. We could not afford to get sidetracked by anything, including a girl who was screaming like someone going through the Changing. Except there had to be another reason behind her screams. Grievers - the mere memory of the things made me shudder - had very moist bodies, completely unsuited to a desert environment.

Anyway, we forced ourselves to ignore the screaming girl and concentrate on looking for any signs that Teresa might have passed this way. We carried on searching for as long as we could, but were eventually forced to admit defeat. "Come on," said Harriet. "The sun'll be rising in a few hours. We'd better head back."

None of us argued with her. We all remembered how unbearably hot it had been yesterday, a lingering effect of the solar flares, no doubt. And there was no telling how long it would take for the climate to return to normal, not that we had time to worry about this; our main priority was getting back to the tunnel. Which only left one problem. "What about Teresa?" I asked. "She's still missing."

"Let's just hope she's found her way back or one of the other groups have found her," was all Harriet said in reply.

* * *

We arrived back at the tunnel to find that the groups led by Sonya and Victoria had returned ahead of us. They too had not found any trace of Teresa and, after spending all night searching, eventually decided to head back. Victoria told us she had been hoping one of the other groups had been more successful, or that Teresa had found her way back to the tunnel by herself. Sonya had been thinking along much the same lines. "Well, since none of us found her, that only leaves Yoko's group," said Harriet, as the eighteen of us stood around the opening which led into the tunnel. "If she's not with them . . ." She broke off as we exchanged troubled glances. It was looking increasingly likely that we had lost the newest addition to our group.

Hours later, we were still waiting for Yoko and her party to get back. We stayed in the tunnel to avoid the searing heat of the sun, keeping a constant watch on the stairs, trying not to think about what might have happened to those of us who had yet to return. I was beginning to wonder if we should send a search party to look for Yoko's group; at least we knew which direction they had gone, which was more than could be said for Teresa. But, when I suggested this to Harriet and Sonya, they immediately vetoed the idea.

"There are already seven people missing," said Harriet. "We can't risk anyone else getting lost; we're down to less than twenty as it is."

I sighed deeply. "You're right. I just hope nothing serious has happened to delay them," I added, turning my gaze in the direction of the stairs which led to the surface. But, given the mess the world was in, I wouldn't be at all surprised if, somewhere in the wasteland known as the Scorch, Yoko and the others had run into trouble. Not to mention that Teresa still hadn't shown up. And then there was the matter of the deadline; we had less than two weeks to complete the Scorch Trials and that meant we couldn't risk staying in one place for too long. "How long do you think we should wait?" I asked, wishing at least one of the missing girls would show up.

"A few more hours," replied Harriet. "Then we'll . . ."

Before she could complete her sentence, Ruth and Sylvia came hurtling down the stairs, closely followed by Yoko and Julia. One look at the members of Yoko's party was enough to confirm my fears that something had happened to them out in the Scorch, something serious enough to keep them from returning to the tunnel until now. All four were out of breath, as if they had been running hard for some time. And their faces all bore the same terrified expression, an expression I'd seen before, on the faces of Runners who'd had a close call with the Grievers. Except there couldn't be any Grievers out here; like I said before, they weren't exactly suited to a desert environment. So what had Yoko and her group encountered? And why weren't Isabella and Donna with them? I was about to question them, but Sonya beat me to it.

"What took you so long?"

Yoko, still trying to get her breath back, replied for all four. "Ran into a . . . bunch of . . . Cranks."

"Isabella and Donna?" asked Sonya in the tone of someone expecting bad news.

Yoko shook her head.

* * *

Bit by bit, Yoko, Ruth, Sylvia and Julia explained what had happened.

While searching for Teresa, their party had found their path blocked by between twenty and thirty Cranks, all of whom were well past the Gone, utterly insane, their human instincts replaced by primitive animal urges. Some of them, including a large man with a jagged scar on his face, had reached a stage where their brains were so badly damaged that they had lost their grasp of language and kept repeating the same words or phrases over and over. But they still had enough intelligence to wield an array of weapons, mostly knives and spears, which looked like they could do serious damage to anyone who ended up on the wrong end of one of them.

"Kill kill kill kill kill!" This came from the scarred man, who seemed to be their leader. And, with that, he ran Isabella through with his spear before anyone from Yoko's group could stop him. "Kill kill kill!" he shouted as he stood over Isabella's body, a battle cry which was quickly taken up by the rest of the Cranks. All except one dark-haired woman in whom the Flare had progressed so far that she could only growl and snarl like an animal, her mind utterly destroyed by the virus which had infected her.

Yoko and the others tried to make a stand against the Cranks in an attempt to get Isabella's body back. "I don't know what they do with their victims," Sylvia explained. "But I knew they weren't going to give Isabella a decent burial. They're just . . . not human any more." But, even though Yoko's group managed to kill a few Cranks, there was no way five teenagers could last long against a couple of dozen savages, especially when those savages were unfeeling creatures of instinct, physically human but mentally reduced to the level of wild beasts. And, as if to prove it, the snarling woman had pinned Donna to the ground and, using only her bare teeth, ripped her throat out.

That was when Yoko and the others knew they had to get out of there, before anyone else was killed. "But what about Donna and Isabella?" asked Julia.

"They're beyond help," Yoko replied. "There's nothing we can do except try and put some distance between us and these fuzzing savages."

And the four of them had run across miles of desert, trying not to think about what the Cranks might do to Isabella and Donna's bodies. Fortunately, the Cranks were too distracted by their latest victims to bother pursuing the remaining members of Yoko's party. But Yoko and the others still had to worry about the relentless heat of the sun; after daybreak, they tried to keep going for as long as they could, but they were eventually forced to seek shelter in what used to be a gas station. Needless to say, they made absolutely certain that it wasn't already occupied and also took the precaution of barricading the door against any Cranks who might show up. Fortunately, none did.

"And, when the sun started going down, we decided to head back here," Yoko told us. "But we met another group of Cranks along the way and we had to run from them. We weren't going to stick around and argue with them, not after what happened to Isabella and Donna . . ." She paused for a moment. "At least everyone else made it back safely."

"Not quite," said Harriet. "Teresa's still missing. We'll give her a few more hours, then, if she's not back, we're moving on."

* * *

A few hours later, with still no sign of Teresa, we prepared to ascend the stairs which led out of the tunnel. Harriet and Sonya wanted us to cover as much distance as possible tonight, which meant we couldn't wait for Teresa any longer. "But what if she comes back and finds us gone?" asked Emily.

"I hate to say it," Harriet replied, "but it's looking increasingly unlikely that she will come back. And every second we stay here wastes time. We have to move on and hope some of us make it to the end of these fuzzing Trials." Her tone was completely matter-of-fact, but the words "some of us" were the cue for people to start exchanging uneasy looks. Some of us. That meant Harriet didn't expect all of us to survive long enough to reach the safe haven, not that I was surprised given how many people we'd lost already. At one point, the population of Group B's Glade had totalled fifty-one; but for the losses we'd suffered before Rachel and Aris arrived, there would have been sixty of us. Now, we were down to just over twenty and there was a strong probability that more of us would fall before the Scorch Trials reached their conclusion. And, as we all knew from experience, any of us could be next.

Anyway, we made our way up the stairs and emerged into the desert night. We were just discussing which route we should take in order to reach the mountains while avoiding the city when a shout from Tegan interrupted us. "Someone's coming! From over there!" She pointed to the north and, as we turned in that direction, we saw a solitary figure slowly walking towards us.

We went straight for our weapons, an action which was becoming instinctive for all of us. If someone was approaching from the north, the direction in which the city lay, that person was almost certainly a Crank and, while he or she could be in the early stages like the pair who had led us through the tunnel, we could easily be dealing with someone in whom the Flare virus had advanced to the point where any vestiges of humanity had been destroyed. Like the Cranks Yoko and her group encountered while they were looking for Teresa, the Cranks who killed Donna and Isabella. At least, unlike Yoko's party, we had the advantage in terms of numbers.

But, as the figure drew closer, one after another of us lowered our weapons. Because the person approaching us from the direction of the city of Cranks was Teresa.


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-two**

It turned out that Teresa's disappearance had been organised by WICKED, that it was all part of the Trials. One of their Bergs - Teresa explained that this was a name given to a large circular flying machine - had picked her up and flown her to a building a few miles outside the city. Then, the people from WICKED had her wait inside while the sound of a girl screaming was broadcast across the Scorch. The screaming, Teresa explained, was a recording and WICKED were using it to lure Thomas into the building. "They told me they wanted him to see me," she explained. "That it would reassure him if he knew I was alive and well, lull him into a false sense of security. They even manipulated me into kissing him," she added with a look of disgust on her face. Clearly, her attitude to Thomas hadn't changed since I last saw her.

"What was that like?" I asked, feeling an overwhelming curiosity to know what had been going through Teresa's mind at that moment. As far as I remembered, I had never kissed, or been kissed by, a boy. My memory had been wiped of all personal information except the name I had been given when I was taken from my family; I didn't even know if I'd had any contact with any of WICKED's male subjects apart from Aris and he and I certainly hadn't kissed each other.

"I told you, I didn't want to do it," Teresa replied. "WICKED were controlling me somehow, making me convince Tom I was still on his side." She gave a mirthless laugh. "Boys are so easy to fool. I may have been his friend at one time, but not any more. Not after what he did to me."

"What did he do to you?" I asked this question even though I knew I was unlikely to get an answer. Teresa always refused to tell us what Thomas had done to turn her against him, make her so determined to fulfil the part of our mission that required us to kill him.

"That's for me to know and you shanks _not_ to find out." The sort of uninformative answer Teresa had given in response to previous attempts to get her to open up and tell us what Thomas had done. "But he deserves to die for it - and I mean to make sure he does." Then, in an abrupt change of subject, she added: "Those people I was with told me we'll have to go through another tunnel to get to the mountains. It'll take us a few days, but it'll be safer than staying out in the open, especially with a storm brewing."

There was something slightly off about the way Teresa said the word "storm", as if it was a potent of danger. "Is that bad?" I asked. The wind was already beginning to pick up, but I didn't mind; it would be a relief to have some respite from the relentless heat. And, if it rained, so much the better. We might be able to collect the rain somehow, use it to replenish our water bottles. Not to mention that we could all (with the exception of Teresa, who had been given a chance to clean herself up before her meeting with Thomas) do with a wash after spending the last couple of days in the hot and dusty desert.

"Bad doesn't begin to cover it," Teresa said. "One of their experts told me about the storms they have in the Scorch. You get huge bolts of lightning, powerful enough to kill you on the spot. It doesn't start to rain until the lightning's been going on for several minutes, but you're almost certainly dead by then if you haven't found shelter. So we've got to find that tunnel."

* * *

With Teresa in the lead, followed by Harriet and Sonya, we headed west, the direction in which the tunnel Teresa had told us about lay. As we walked, I could feel the wind getting stronger, whipping up choking clouds of dust which made us all cough, forcing us to lean into the powerful gusts. And this was only the start of it; if we failed to reach the tunnel before the lightning hit, at least some of us were sure to get fried alive. Perhaps even all of us since shelter was pretty hard to come by out here. But, if we made it to the tunnel, we would be safe - or as safe as we could possibly be under our current circumstances. At least until we came to the end of the tunnel, at which point we would probably have some new obstacle to contend with.

Indira, walking beside me, attempted to wipe dust out of her eyes. A futile exercise; there was so much dust blowing about that it was impossible to keep our eyes clear of it. "How far do you think we've come?" she asked.

"I'm more worried about how far we still have to go," I told her. The mountains, though they had to be closer now, still seemed as far away as they had been on the first morning of our journey across the Scorch. Would the supplies we had brought with us from the gym last us? If not, would we be able to replenish them? The city was sure to have what we needed, but it also contained an unknown number of Cranks and, for that reason alone, we had chosen to avoid it. Which meant we would have to hope there was an alternative source of food and water in this barren wasteland. Of course, we wouldn't need to worry about obtaining more supplies if we all got electrocuted in the lightning storm.

Electrocuted. For a moment an image of the electric fence which surrounded the courtyard back at the gym flashed into my mind. I recalled how several Cranks had been killed trying to reach us, heedless of the danger because of the virus that was destroying their minds. The acrid smell of burnt flesh was the main reason we'd avoided venturing out into the courtyard as much as possible. And I remembered how Beth had thrown herself at the fence, unable to live with the guilt of what she had done to Rachel. The fence, however, was a static barrier. If the lightning came before we reached the tunnel, it would be almost impossible to predict where the bolts were going to strike.

"What's on your mind?" Indira asked beside me.

"The thought of getting struck by lightning mostly," I replied. I wondered if storms of the sort Teresa had told us was coming were a common occurrence in the Scorch. Probably; the sun flares had screwed the climate up pretty badly and this was bound to cause all kinds of freak weather.

"Let's hope we're in that tunnel before the storm hits," said Indira.

* * *

By the following morning, the wind was gusting more powerfully than ever and the sky was thick with clouds, obscuring the sun. But, though this offered relief from the relentless heat, we still had swirls of dust to contend with, swirls of dust which choked and blinded us as we staggered through the desert. And then there was the thought that bolts of lightning could begin to strike at any moment. If that happened while we were still out in the open and the storm was as bad as Teresa had said it would be, there was no way all twenty-three of us could survive; it was even possible that we would be completely wiped out.

"Come and look at this!"

It was Tegan who had shouted. She was standing stock still, pointing at something on the ground. Curious, I staggered over to see for myself what had grabbed her attention, though, with a potentially lethal storm about to descend on us, letting myself get sidetracked was probably the last thing I should do right now. Nevertheless, something told me that whatever Tegan had seen was no random object, that I should take a closer look. It proved to be a large metallic ring set into the ground that looked as though it could be a handle of some sort. But what would happened if I pulled it? I knew I shouldn't be wasting time right now, especially when the lightning could begin at any second, but I had to know. Something - I wasn't sure what - told me this metal ring was important somehow. And the only way I could find out why it was important was to pull it. But what if I pulled it and something horrible happened? On the other hand, if I didn't take a chance . . .

"Get back," I told Tegan. No sense in risking both our lives. "Right back." I waited until she was a safe distance away, then took hold of the ring and pulled. At first, nothing happened, but then I heard a grinding noise and part of the desert floor lifted up as if on a hinge, revealing a hole in the ground. Could this be the tunnel we were looking for? I was about to call Tegan over when Harriet, Sonya and Teresa came hurrying towards me, their shirts pulled up over their faces as protection against the swirling clouds of dust.

"What are you doing?" Harriet demanded. "Have you forgotten that we're about to get struck by lightning?"

"Tegan found something on the ground," I replied. "A metal ring of some sort. I pulled it and a hole . . ." I gestured towards the hole in question. ". . . appeared. I think it might be the entrance to that tunnel."

Harriet and Teresa went over to the hole and knelt down to see for themselves. "Yes, I can see some stairs leading down," Teresa said after a few seconds. "It could be a tunnel, or it could just be a cellar."

"Well, whatever it is, we'd better get everyone down there," said Harriet. "That storm'll be on us any second." She nodded towards the sky, where the clouds looked more ominous than ever. For a moment, I was reminded of the time back in the Glade when we woke to find that the fake sun which had shone down on us for more than two years was gone; our "sky" had looked just as oppressively grey as the sky above us currently looked. The only difference was that this was the real sky and it was about to hurl bolts of lightning at us.

* * *

It didn't take long to catch up with the others; the swirling clouds of dust had slowed them to a standstill and they stood huddled together, eighteen girls trying in vain to protect themselves from the wind. But the wind and the dust it was whipping up would be the least of our worries once the lightning started. If any of us got hit by those bolts, our numbers would be reduced still further and we presently totalled roughly half as many as we had when we began our escape from the Maze. And there were no buildings for miles around; our only chance was to make it to the hole Tegan and I had found. So, tunnel or cellar, that was where we must go.

"Come on!" Harriet shouted above the howling wind. "This way!" She pointed in the direction from which she, Sonya, Teresa, Tegan and myself had come.

The others did not need telling twice. Staggering against the wind, they began to follow the five of us, fighting to reach the safety of the hole before the storm unleashed its full fury on us. Through the swirling dust clouds, I could already see flashes of lightning in the distance - and they seemed to be getting closer all the time. If we were caught out in the open when the lightning caught up with us, we wouldn't stand a chance; we would have survived Grievers and killer metal balls, not to mention Cranks in the case of Yoko, Ruth, Sylvia and Julia, only to be fried by bolts of electricity striking us from above. So, not daring to stop for anything, we made for the only possible shelter for miles around.

We got there none too soon; by the time we reached the hole, the lightning was almost right on top of us. It could only be a matter of seconds before someone was struck and we all knew the Scorch Trials would then be over for whoever it was, just as they were already over for Bianca, Alison, Eve, Jody, Isabella and Donna. And then there were those for whom these Trials had never even begun, those who had already fallen by the time Janson appeared in the gym and told us about our mission to reach the safe haven and obtain the cure. More than half the kids who had ever been sent to Group B's Glade fell into this category, but I had no time to think about them while my own life was in danger. Not even Christie.

"Down here!" Teresa called, hurrying down the stairs which led into the hole. The rest of us followed without hesitation, keeping just enough distance between each other to avoid a crush. We didn't go down in any particular order; unlike when we escaped from the Maze, or when we entered the Flat Trans, we could not afford to waste time sorting ourselves by name or by Subject number. We had to get under cover before . . .

A brilliant flash of light lit up the square which marked the entrance to the hole, accompanied by a loud crashing sound. Instinctively, we closed our eyes and covered our ears, none of us needing anyone to tell us what had just happened, that the ground outside the hole had been struck by lightning. And, if any of us had been caught out in the open, I would rate their chances of survival somewhere around zero, especially if they'd been right in the path of the bolt which had just hit. Fortunately, all twenty-three of us had begun our descent before the lightning reached the spot directly above us.

"Whoa!" I heard Emily say beside me.

"You can say that again," I said, as more flashes of lightning and crashes of thunder followed the first.

"Whoa!"

"Yes, OK. I just meant it's a good thing none of us were up there. That lightning would've fried them to a crisp."

* * *

We continued to make our way down the stairs, the sounds of the thunder and lightning fading as we went deeper underground. Soon, we were gathered in a stairwell, out of range of the deadly storm raging above us, but also out of range of daylight. The opening through which we had come only provided a narrow shaft, nowhere near enough, especially if this was indeed the tunnel through which we must travel. And, after what had happened in the tunnel where the Flat Trans emerged, none of us were eager to start feeling our way in the dark. Who knew what horror might attack us while we were deprived of the use of our eyes? The metal balls had been bad enough. But, faced with a choice between unknown dangers and the very real threat of being struck by lightning, we decided we preferred the first option.

But it turned out that we didn't have to worry about feeling our way in the dark. Teresa produced a large flashlight, one that could only have been given to her by the people who'd taken her to the building where she had been manipulated into kissing Thomas, from her backpack. Switching it on, she shone its beam all around us until she revealed a corridor stretching off into the distance. That, she told us, was the way we must go.

We set off, walking two abreast, following the beam of Teresa's flashlight. I was walking alongside Indira, with Emily and Tegan immediately ahead of us and Flossie and Neffy directly behind. As we walked, I thought about Teresa's account of her encounter with Thomas. Something seemed off about it and, as we made our way down the seemingly endless underground passage, I suddenly realised what that something was. "She called him Tom!" I said out loud.

"Huh?" Indira said beside me.

"Teresa. When she was talking about WICKED having her make Thomas think he could trust her, she called him Tom. But that was her pet name for him and she hasn't used it since we were given this mission. In fact, she's been pretty fanatical about letting us know how much she's hated Thomas since he did whatever he did. So I'm beginning to wonder if she really hates him enough to want him dead. Maybe she's being manipulated like Beth was."

"Or," Indira added, "she's making up all that stuff about him doing something awful to justify what we have to do. I mean, we were told we wouldn't be allowed into the safe haven if we didn't kill Thomas, but how do you live with yourself when you know you're alive at the expense of someone else's life? A life that you've taken? Maybe Teresa doesn't really want to go through with that aspect of our mission, so she's convinced herself that Thomas did something to her that was so bad he deserves to die. Maybe that's why she won't tell us what he did."

"Maybe," I said. Even so, I couldn't help remembering the tattoo on Teresa's neck, the one which branded her _The Betrayer_. From the look of things, Thomas was the one she was supposed to betray and she had already begun to do that when she met him in that building on the edge of the city. She said she and Thomas used to be friends, but something had happened between them and she now hated him more than anyone else on the planet. Which suggested that her calling him Tom was nothing more than a temporary lapse. Unless my theory about her being manipulated by WICKED was correct; after all, it wouldn't be the first time they had done that and I already knew this manipulation could extend to making someone commit murder.

But, since I had no way of knowing the truth of the situation, I decided the best thing to do was wait until Groups A and B met up, then, if Thomas was still alive at that point, see how things played out between him and Teresa.


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-three**

I had no idea how long we had been walking down this tunnel, the third we had entered since beginning the Scorch Trials, but I guessed it must be at least four days based on the number of times we had stopped to make camp. Our only source of light was the beam from Teresa's flashlight, but she had to ration its use since, unlike the batteries in our watches, its battery didn't charge as she walked. Teresa said she had been told it had enough power to last twenty-four hours, but that it would take nearly a week to reach the end of the tunnel we were in. Which meant we had to feel our way in the dark most of the time.

In fact, we were currently doing precisely that, walking through the pitch black tunnel, trying not to think about what had happened the last time we had to do something like this. I didn't know about any of the others, but I knew I would never forget the terrifying experience we had been through in that first tunnel, the one we found ourselves in after we went through the Flat Trans. The whispering voice warning us that we would die if we didn't go back. The metallic substance which had fallen on four girls and caused them to literally lose their heads. I remembered the moment I touched Bianca's severed neck vertebra and realised the grisly fate which had befallen the youngest of the thirty kids who had escaped from Group B's Maze. For her to have survived the battle with the Grievers, only to be decapitated a few days later . . .

"Jenny?" Indira said. "What's wrong?"

I suddenly realised the wetness I could feel on my cheeks was tears and that my breath was hitching with sobs. "Sorry," I said, wiping my eyes. "I was just thinking about what happened to Bianca. She wasn't much older than Christie . . ." I trailed off, unable to express in words the unfairness of the situation which had cost both girls their lives. They were just kids, Pips to use the slang which the members of Group B had developed, but WICKED had allowed them both to die in the most horrible ways imaginable.

"I know." Indira's tone was sympathetic. "I still miss Christie and I wish I'd gotten to know Bianca a little better. But I could say that about a lot of the sticks we've lost over the past two years."

"Do you ever wonder which of us will be next?" I found myself asking.

"I try not to think about it. Just take each day as it comes and hope some of us make it to the safe haven, preferably before anyone starts showing symptoms. We're all infected with the Flare, remember?"

I'd been trying to push any thoughts of us having the Flare to the back of my mind, knowing there was nothing we could do if we were infected, except reach the safe haven and obtain the cure. At present, none of us were showing any signs of any kind of illness, least of all the terrible disease which had brought a world already devastated by solar flares to its knees, but I knew that couldn't last. Some time in the next few days, the Flare would begin to manifest itself in us.

* * *

We stopped for a break shortly after this, sitting down on the floor of the tunnel to eat and drink some of our supplies. Though the food and water we'd brought with us from the gym was beginning to run out, we'd been lucky enough to find a stash right inside this tunnel. We didn't know who had left it there - someone from WICKED presumably since this was one of their tunnels - but we didn't care. All that mattered was that we had found a means of replenishing our supplies that didn't involve risking our lives in the city of Cranks. And from the look of things, this food should be enough to last us until we reached the safe haven.

Anyway, we sat down on the floor and, with Teresa's flashlight providing the only illumination, consumed enough food and water to keep us going for the next few hours. As we ate, I found myself looking at the others, even though most of them were in shadow. And, as I did so, my thoughts strayed to what Indira had said earlier, especially the bit about us being infected with the Flare. Janson, I recalled, had told us we had been given this devastating disease to provide us with an incentive to do what WICKED wanted us to do, using the Flare and the cure as the metaphorical stick and carrot. I don't think I need to tell you which was the stick and which was the carrot. We'd been given two weeks in which to complete the Scorch Trials and, by my reckoning, we were about halfway through that time, which meant the Flare virus had been incubating inside each of us for seven days or thereabouts.

Unless Janson had been lying to us. But that didn't rule out the possibility of us catching the Flare by other means. I thought of Yoko, Sylvia, Ruth and Julia, who had been in a fight with some Cranks; they could have become infected as a result of that fight - and the rest of us had been in contact with all of them. Yoko was sitting right next to me; I instinctively made to move away from her, but stopped myself. If I was infected, I was infected and there was nothing I could do about it. Except hope I made it to the safe haven and received the promised cure.

* * *

Rest break over, we moved on, the beam from Teresa's flashlight lighting our way as we headed down the underground passage. I found myself wondering why whoever had built this tunnel had made it so long that it took several days to travel from one end to the other. Not that I was likely to find out any time soon. All I knew was that this was the longest tunnel we had been down yet and we were still a couple of days from reaching the exit, assuming my guess about us having been down here for four days was correct and I had no way of knowing for sure. Come to think of it, I didn't even know if it was night or day above ground, but I hoped that, when we finally reached the end of this tunnel, it wouldn't be during the heat of the day.

Heat. We'd experienced plenty of that since arriving in the Scorch. Blistering, unbearable heat that had turned this land into a parched desert where nothing grew; the few plants I'd seen here were all dead and, now that I thought about it, I hadn't seen any animals either. Which made me wonder how the Scorch's human inhabitants managed to survive in such a harsh environment. Granted the vast majority of them were Cranks whose minds were being destroyed by the virus which had infected them, but they were still living beings and they still needed to eat and drink. Had any of them turned to cannibalism? It certainly wouldn't surprise me, especially among those whose brains had deteriorated to the point where they no longer had any sense of right and wrong; they would think nothing of killing one of their own and feasting on the flesh.

It suddenly occurred to me that Isabella and Donna could have ended up on the menu after they were killed by the Cranks Yoko and her group crossed paths with while out looking for Teresa. The thought made me feel physically sick and I had to fight to keep the contents of my stomach down. I'd witnessed some pretty horrific things over the past two years, as had all the others, and I was grateful we had been spared the sight of two members of our group being devoured by a band of Flare-infected savages. Seeing what the Grievers did to their victims was bad enough, but Cranks, even those as far past the Gone as the ones Yoko and the others encountered, still looked enough like human beings to make the idea of them eating people utterly repulsive.

I shook my head, telling myself to stop thinking about such horrible things and concentrate on the fact that twenty-three of us had made it this far. And, if our luck continued to hold, there was a chance that some of us would make it to the safe haven. I didn't say all of us would make it because, out here in the Scorch, there were no guarantees of anything apart from the fact that each of us could be killed in any number of ways. The best any of us could hope for was that our group wouldn't be completely wiped out before we could get the cure. Even one survivor would be better than none at all.

* * *

It took us another two days to reach the end of the tunnel, by which time the battery in Teresa's flashlight was almost exhausted. "Do you think it will last until we get out of here?" I heard Sonya asking from her place up front with Harriet and Teresa.

"Hopefully it will," said Teresa. All the same, she switched the flashlight off in an attempt to conserve its failing battery. But we all knew this only delayed the inevitable; sooner or later, that battery was going to give out and, since we weren't carrying any spares, this would leave us in permanent darkness as long as we were in this tunnel. We were already spending most of this underground journey groping through the pitch black of an unlit passage as it was.

But it turned out that we didn't have to feel our way in the dark for much longer. Shortly after Teresa turned her flashlight off, we found ourselves making our way up a flight of stairs. And, based on the first two tunnels we had been in, these stairs had to be leading to an exit. At least I hoped they were; I'd been underground for so long by now that I no longer cared how hot and stifling it was when we reached the surface. I just wanted to get out of this fuzzing tunnel.

It was late afternoon when we emerged; the sun was low in the sky, so we wouldn't have to worry too much about the heat. All the same, we decided to set up camp where we were and continue our journey tomorrow. We would normally take advantage of the hours of darkness to travel as far as we could above ground, but we'd already been walking underground for several hours today and we were all too tired to go much further. We just wanted to get some rest before we made our final approach to the mountains which, though much closer now, were still too far away for us to be able to reach them on foot in less than a day. Actually, two days seemed a more realistic estimate and even that didn't allow for any delays we might encounter between here and the peaks looming on the horizon.

"All the same," said Harriet, "we'd best try to find shelter. There's no way we'll be able to get through a whole day under that fuzzing sun."

She was right, of course, but there was no shelter for miles around except the tunnel from which we had just emerged. Which meant we had no choice but to spend another twenty-four hours in the underground passage.

* * *

"How long have we been travelling?" Flossie wondered out loud. She, Indira and myself were sitting on the stairs, as were the others, waiting for evening to come so that we could move on. In the meantime, we stayed in the tunnel to avoid the heat of the sun, which was now almost directly overhead, forcing us to keep well away from the rectangle of light that marked the exit. We could have taken our chances and attempted to travel during the day, using our blankets for protection, but we'd tried that on our first day in the Scorch, only to find that the heat became impossible to endure even with our makeshift cloaks. So we had to stay here and wait until the cooler evening air allowed us to venture above ground once more.

I thought about Flossie's question, not that I had much else to do. We'd been in the Scorch for approximately eight days, six of which had been spent travelling through this underground tunnel. Which meant we had less than a week to reach the safe haven and obtain the cure. And, if we failed to reach our destination in time, what would happen to us then? Would we be left out in the Scorch to succumb to the Flare, slowly descending into madness until we were little more than savage animals? Or would hunger and thirst, to say nothing of the Cranks who lived in this parched wasteland, get us first? Not very pleasant thoughts, but the Scorch wasn't a pleasant place to be. And, but for WICKED and the mission they had sent us on, none of us would have been here at all.

Presently, evening fell and, now that we no longer had to worry about getting burned by the sun, we were finally able to leave this tunnel and spend a few hours travelling above ground. Walking under a canopy of stars, we headed towards the mountains, beyond which we hoped we would find the safe haven and, with it, the cure we had been promised. Of course, with WICKED involved in all this, we knew things weren't going to be straightforward, but we kept going, telling ourselves that even false hope was better than no hope at all. Even if it turned out that Janson had been feeding us a pack of lies, that the Scorch Trials were just more of WICKED's Variables, we could not give up after we had come so far.

Especially when the end of our journey was drawing ever nearer.

* * *

After another day-and-a-half, part of which was spent travelling down yet another tunnel, we finally reached the mountains. As we climbed uphill, I saw yet more evidence of the damage caused by the solar flares. The slopes were as barren as the lowlands; the roots of dead trees clung to the dry soil, but there was no sign of any living plants. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a living plant since . . .

As we rounded a massive wall and entered a shady spot, it suddenly hit me that the last time I'd seen plants growing was in the Glade, before our "sun" was switched off. When that happened, Helen and her Gardeners had salvaged as many of our crops as they could, but most of our plants had been left to die. We had no choice; with no artificial sunlight, there was no way our crops could survive even if we kept them thoroughly watered and, with the way things were going at that point, there was every possibility that we might lose our water supply. After all, not only had we lost our "sun", the weekly deliveries from the Box had also stopped, to say nothing of the fact that the Doors were no longer closing at night, allowing the Grievers to come into the Glade and pick us off. In the end, our water supply was never cut, but, had we waited just a few more days before launching our escape attempt, things might have been very different.

In any case, we kept walking uphill until we reached a large indentation in the east wall, a cave which went back about twelve metres. Easily large enough to accommodate twenty-three teenaged girls and their belongings, so this was where we decided to set up camp. As we were spreading our blankets on the floor of the cave, Teresa told us she had an announcement to make. We stopped what we were doing and listened; even though Teresa was the newest addition to our group, she had pretty much taken over, with Harriet and Sonya (our official leaders) reduced to little more than figureheads. Indeed, almost from the moment Teresa showed up, Harriet and Sonya had been quick to defer to her.

"I've been talking to Aris," Teresa told us. "He . . ."

"How?" Ruth cut in. "There's no-one here except us."

"In our minds," Teresa said, reminding us of her telepathic abilities, which most of us had forgotten about. "He says he's still with Group A and they're getting closer to the mountains. They lost a few people in that lightning storm, but eleven of them survived and they picked up a couple of shanks in the city. Both recently infected with the Flare, but they're not important. It's Thomas we want." There was an edge to her voice as she said Thomas's name that told me the part of our mission that involved capturing and killing her former friend was still on. "He's gonna pay for what he did to me."

Once again, I wondered what Thomas could have done to make Teresa hate him so much. But I didn't ask, knowing the answer I got would be no more informative than it had been the last time someone asked that question. "You mean Thomas is alive?" I asked instead.

Teresa nodded curtly. "He won't be for much longer," she added. "We're going to make our move tomorrow, get him away from his buddies and . . ." She finished her sentence by making a slicing gesture across her throat with her index finger.

* * *

We spent the rest of the day in the cave, preparing for our next move: the abduction and eventual murder of Thomas. None of us really wanted to do this, but Teresa said we had to follow Janson's instructions if we wanted to be allowed into the safe haven. So we went along with whatever she told us to do, knowing the alternative meant we risked being left to die in this barren wasteland. We'd already figured that WICKED were still monitoring us somehow, though we couldn't tell precisely how they did it. All we knew was that our every move was being watched and studied.

But, though none of us dared mention them to Teresa, several of us had our doubts about the mission we had been given. It was Indira who summed it up best. "Do you ever wonder why we're doing this?" she asked as we sat in the cave, sheltering from the heat of the sun.

"Because that stick back at the gym told us to," I replied.

"Yes, but do you ever stop to ask yourself _why_ he told us to kill someone. I mean, it must have something to do with the Variables, but I can't figure out what. And why is Teresa so keen to go through with killing Thomas if he used to be her friend? Why won't she tell us what he did to her?" We'd been through this before, but we were still no nearer to finding the answer; all we knew was that, according to Teresa, Thomas had done something so awful that he deserved to die for it. And she expected the rest of us to be her accomplices in murder. "There's something fishy about all this," Indira added. "Maybe we should talk to Harriet and Sonya. They still have some pull round here, so they might be able to get Teresa to call it off."

"Maybe," I said, though I doubted it would do any good. After all, we'd been told we would be abandoned in the Scorch if we didn't kill Thomas, so, if it was a choice between him and the twenty-three of us . . .

* * *

That night, Teresa called us all together and told us the time had come. We were going after Group A, who were nearing the edge of the mountains, and we were going to capture Thomas and bring him back to our camp, where we would hold him until the time was right. I don't think I need to elaborate on that. Most of us, Teresa explained, would be accompanying her; our group had twice as many members as Group A and seeing all but a handful of us together would let the boys know we meant business. Especially since we would be taking our weapons with us.

Teresa then turned her attention to deciding who should stay behind to guard the camp in case any Cranks found their way here while those of us chosen to go on this kidnapping mission were gone. "Victoria, Mona and Julia," she said finally, "you three will keep watch until we get back. Keep your weapons handy and, if you see anyone you don't recognise approaching the camp, don't hesitate to use them. The rest of you, come with me."

It only took us a matter of minutes to gather together everything we needed. Our weapons, the sack in which we had been told to keep Thomas until we were out of his friends' sight, a length of rope to secure the sack. Teresa, armed with her knife on the end of a stick, took the lead as we set off, heading south to intercept the remaining members of Group A.


	25. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-four**

We circled around the group of thirteen people, who comprised eleven teenaged boys (one of whom was Aris), a man whose appearance suggested that he was of Hispanic origin and a girl who looked to be about the same age as some of the members of our group. All the while, we kept our weapons trained on them, letting them know we meant business. We were here to capture Thomas and we were not going to leave without him.

I, of course, had no idea at this point which of these people was Thomas. I could rule out Aris (who I already knew), the girl (wrong gender) and the man (too old), but that still left ten possible candidates. However, I soon noticed that Teresa's gaze was focused on one boy in particular, a sandy-haired youth of around sixteen, which led me to suspect that this was the boy we were looking for, the boy we were supposed to kill. No-one spoke for several seconds; we continued to stand in our circle, pointing our weapons at Group A and their two companions. For a moment, I was reminded of the time Patra and her lynch mob surrounded Aris, Rachel and myself, intending to kill the last two kids to arrive in Group B's Glade. Now I was in a similar situation, only this time I was among those threatening a group of trapped (and unarmed) people.

Two boys, one Asian, whose face showed signs of having been badly burned recently, the other fair-haired, his stance suggesting that he did not have full use of one of his legs, attempted to speak to Teresa. But she ignored the first and interrupted the second with a firm "shut up", adding that the bows would start shooting if anyone, by which she meant the members Group A, plus the man and the girl who were with them, tried anything. Those from Group B who were armed with bows and arrows tightened their grips, as Teresa, spear in hand, strode into the midst of the people we had surrounded. She paused for a moment in front of the girl, but did not stop until she got to the sandy-haired boy, training her spear on him.

"Teresa," the boy said. "Teresa, what's . . .?"

"Shut up," was Teresa's only response. The boy tried to speak again, only to be cut off in mid-sentence when she lashed out with the butt of her spear and knocked him to the ground. "I said shut up," she said, hauling him to his feet and pointing her spear at him once more. "Is your name Thomas?" she demanded, her spear still trained on him.

"You know who I . . ." Again, the boy was interrupted by a blow from Teresa's spear, a blow which, though more violent than the first, did not knock him down. "You know who I am!" he shouted, all but confirming my suspicions that he was Thomas, the boy we had been told to kill. This, however, was not enough for Teresa, who, her tone conveying disgust, told him she "used to" know him, then repeated her earlier question. Watching the scene unfolding in front of me, I wondered why she was doing this. Surely, if she had been a member of Group A, she should know if the boy in front of her was her former friend. Unless WICKED had manipulated her memory somehow, which I wouldn't put past them. But I barely had time to think about this before the boy shouted: "Yes! My name is Thomas!"

* * *

Teresa was keen for everyone, especially Thomas and his companions, to know she wasn't playing games. She said she was going to start counting and, at each multiple of five, one of the people with Thomas would be shot with an arrow. There were twelve girls in Group B who were armed with bows and arrows, one for each of Thomas's companions; they raised their weapons in readiness, while the rest of us waited to see how this would play out. Teresa said she was prepared to have the bows keep shooting until all the people we had encircled were dead except Thomas, at which point we were going to take him anyway. And something about her tone told me she was not bluffing; indeed, she actually seemed to be enjoying this.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she started counting. "One!"

That was as far as she got before Thomas stepped forward and, ignoring the shocked comments of his companions, walked towards her. The other girls of Group B and I watched in silence as he stood only inches from the person who had once been his friend, but now regarded him as an enemy. Teresa, I recalled, had never told us precisely what had happened between herself and Thomas to turn her against him and it wouldn't be long before it no longer mattered. By my reckoning, we were close to the two-week deadline Janson had given us and we were supposed to capture and kill Thomas before it expired; only then would we be allowed access to the safe haven and, with it, the promised cure.

"Fine. Take me," was all Thomas said, his voice showing no sign of emotion.

"I only made it to one." Clearly Teresa had not been expecting Thomas to surrender so readily.

"Yeah. I'm really brave that way."

Teresa promptly "rewarded" Thomas's bravery by knocking him to the ground with her spear.

* * *

Long story short, Harriet and Sonya got Thomas into the sack and tied him inside using the rope we had brought with us, securing it at either end. We then, after a parting warning from Teresa that any of Thomas's companions who were foolish enough to follow us would find themselves on the wrong end of an arrow, set off across the desert, Sonya and Neffy dragging the sack containing our prisoner behind them. Harriet took the lead, while Teresa walked alongside Thomas. I'd noticed that she was whispering something to him shortly before we began our trek, though I couldn't hear what she was saying; when Neffy asked about this, Teresa's reply was that she was telling Thomas how much she was enjoying her chance to get her revenge. But revenge for what? What had Thomas done to Teresa to make her enjoy doing this to him? I could not begin to imagine a scenario where I would be happy to see Indira or Flossie trussed up in a sack, on her way to be murdered.

Anyway, we began walking across the desert, heading back towards the mountains. As we walked, I heard the Asian boy shouting after us. I couldn't make out most of what he was saying and much of what I could hear consisted of insults directed at us in general and Teresa in particular, but there was something in there about the rest of Group A (and their two companions) finding Thomas. I also managed to make out the words "when the time is right", followed by "weapons". Which suggested that, despite Teresa's warning, this boy was planning to attempt a rescue, though his odds of succeeding when we not only outnumbered his group but also had weapons were pretty slim. But his words were enough to earn Thomas a punch in the stomach, courtesy of Teresa.

The boy immediately fell silent, clearly not wanting to see if Teresa would carry out her threat to have those of us who were armed with bows and arrows start shooting at his group. We continued our trek across the desert, heading back the way we had come, all of us well aware that the sun would soon be beating down on us unbearably, making it impossible for us to stay out in the open. We had to make it to the path through the mountains - which we had dubbed the Pass - before then; there was no other shelter for miles, just a barren wasteland that didn't contain so much as a crudely built hut.

All the while, Thomas was being dragged along in the sack, which Sonya and Neffy (following instructions from Teresa) were deliberately hauling across the roughest ground they could find. Of course, the terrain we were crossing was pretty rough anyway, but the two of them were taking great pains (no pun intended) to cause Thomas as much discomfort as possible. I wondered what was going through his mind at that moment; not only was he a condemned prisoner being pulled along in a sack, Teresa, the girl who used to be his friend, was acting as the ring-leader in all this. He must be hurting both physically and mentally, but he hardly made a sound for fear of being punched or kicked by Teresa, who continued to walk beside him all the while.

And she actually seemed to be enjoying the abuse she was dishing out, to be looking for an excuse to humiliate Thomas further. As if being dragged across the desert in a sack wasn't humiliation enough. But the worst humiliation from Thomas's perspective had to be the fact that his former friend was treating him in this sadistic manner, was prepared to see him dragged to his death, was acting as though she hated his guts to the point where she actually wanted him dead. The words which had been tattooed on Teresa's neck ( _Property of WICKED. Group A, Subject A1. The Betrayer._ ) a few days before we were sent on this mission were finally beginning to make sense.

* * *

When we got to the mountains, we faced the problem of getting Thomas up the steep slope without taking him out of the sack, which we had been told not to do until his friends could no longer see us. We tried dragging him the way we had while crossing the desert, only to find that he kept slipping back. It soon became clear that we weren't going to get very far if we carried on like this, so we had to carry him in teams of four - the first team consisted of Yoko, Sylvia, Hillary and Teresa - swapping over every so often. We continued in this manner until Teresa was satisfied that we were out of Group A's sight, at which point she told the girls carrying Thomas to "drop him". They did so without ceremony, dumping him on the ground like a sack of potatoes. The first thing he saw when the sack was taken off him was all twenty of us pointing our weapons in his direction.

At first, he attempted to joke with us, making a quip about how "special" he felt being surrounded by us and all our weapons while he was unarmed. But Teresa soon put a stop to that by threatening him with her spear and he realised the best thing he could do under his current circumstances was co-operate with us, even to the point of agreeing to let us kill him. "I don't have any shuck thing to live for anyway," he added, looking directly at Teresa. There was, I noted, an edge of spite in his tone as he said those words, as if he now hated her as much as she seemed to hate him. And, given how she had treated him, I could hardly blame him if any friendship he still felt for her was permanently extinguished. But, since we were supposed to kill him, it hardly seemed to matter.

With Thomas now walking with everyone else, we trudged the remaining few miles back to the cave where we had set up camp. By the time we arrived, the sun was high in the sky, threatening to bake anyone who stayed out in the open for too long. Not that we intended to expose ourselves to the unrelenting heat any more than we had to; we were going to spend the rest of the day sleeping in the shelter of the cave, before beginning our journey through the Pass and out of the mountains once night had fallen. As far as travelling across the Scorch was concerned, it was far more comfortable to do so at night, unless you could find the entrance to one of WICKED's tunnels.

Before we could even think about going to sleep, however, we had to secure Thomas; we couldn't take the risk of him escaping and trying to get back to his friends. Following Teresa's orders, Cass and Martha used the rope which had held the sack closed during our trek across the desert to tie him to a dead tree just outside the cave, making sure the knot was positioned so that he couldn't reach round and untie himself. They then gave him a few granola bars and a bottle of water, before joining the rest of us as we prepared to sleep until evening.

* * *

"So what do you think?" I asked Indira and Flossie, as the three of us sat on our blankets, which we had laid out side by side.

Flossie, who had been looking up at the rocky ceiling, turned to look at me. "About what?"

"Thomas," I said, uttering our prisoner's name out loud for the first time since we'd captured him this morning. "Do you think it's true that he did something bad to Teresa? I mean, she's always made him out to be some kind of monster, but he seems like a perfectly ordinary guy to me." So ordinary, in fact, that I was beginning to wonder if he really deserved the fate that was in store for him and I suspected several of the others felt the same way. Indeed, I'd noticed earlier that everyone was taking great pains to avoid looking directly at Thomas, as if they felt guilty about what we were doing to him.

Flossie sighed. "I almost wish he _was_ a monster. That or completely insane like one of those Cranks. It'd make it a lot easier to kill him."

"Well, Teresa doesn't seem to have any problems with the idea of being a murderer," said Indira. "In fact, there were a couple of times back there when I thought she was about to put her spear through him and save us all the trouble of keeping him alive until it's time to kill him. I mean, if we're going to do it, what difference does it make _when_ we do it?"

"The chamber," I said, remembering what Janson had told us when we were first given this mission. Indira and Flossie looked at me blankly. "That guy back at the gym, the one who looked like a rat, said something about a chamber in the side of a mountain," I explained. "He said it had something to do with . . ." I was about to say "killing Thomas", but changed my mind at the last minute. ". . . our task. So maybe we're not supposed to do anything to Thomas until we get to that chamber. Maybe, if we kill him too soon, we won't pass the Trials." I wished we didn't have to kill Thomas at all, especially after we had witnessed so much death already, but we didn't have a choice, not if we wanted to be allowed into the safe haven. Our lives depended on us ending the life of a teenaged boy.

"But let's worry about it later," I added, lying back on my blanket. "Right now, I want to get some sleep." I closed my eyes.

* * *

Hours later, I was woken up by someone shaking me. At first, I was tempted to ignore it and go back to sleep, but whoever was doing the shaking didn't seem like they were about to give up, so I opened my eyes to find Harriet and Sonya looking down at me. The light was a lot dimmer than it had been when I went to sleep, but it wasn't completely dark yet. "Is it time to go?" I asked, recalling that we were supposed to start making our way through the Pass this evening.

Harriet shook her head. "Thomas has something he wants to tell us," she explained. "And we . . ." She nodded in Sonya's direction. ". . . think everyone should hear it. You wake Indira and Flossie; Sonya and I will see to the others."

Soon, we were all gathered before the tree to which Thomas was still tied, all of us except Teresa. Harriet said she had left about an hour ago to scout round and make sure Group A hadn't followed us. None of us said anything, but I could tell from the expressions on the faces of the others that they were curious to hear what Thomas had to say. I know I was. And I also knew whatever it was had to be pretty important or Harriet and Sonya wouldn't have gathered everyone together like this. It almost felt like one of the Emergency Meetings we used to have back in the Glade, except, instead of being assembled in front of everyone, Harriet, Sonya and the three remaining Keepers (Yoko, Flossie and Victoria) were standing with the rest of us, waiting to hear whatever it was Thomas had to tell us.

Presently, Harriet spoke. "All right. You talk first, then we will." These words were addressed to Thomas, who cleared his throat and launched into an explanation about how he believed all that stuff about us killing him was just another of WICKED's Variables, so maybe the way to pass the Trials was for us _not_ to kill him. Perhaps we were being tested somehow to see if we would blindly follow orders or if we would think for ourselves, make our own decisions. After all, since we had the advantage over him in terms of both numbers and weapons, we wouldn't be proving anything by killing him. So, if we followed Janson's instructions to the letter, we would fail the Trials.

We broke off after a while to prepare for the night's journey and discuss what Thomas had told us, most of which was stuff we had suspected already deep down. Something had felt off about this mission right from the start, but, until Thomas spoke to us, none of us had been able to pin down precisely what that something was. Now we had been convinced that all that stuff about killing Thomas was another of WICKED's devious tricks, that we were not supposed to carry out this mission right to the end. A few of us still had our doubts, but, by the time Teresa got back, the verdict was unanimous.

We were not going to kill Thomas.


	26. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-five**

When Harriet told Teresa that we had decided to spare Thomas, the reaction we got was about what we had expected. "Are you serious?! Don't you remember when I told you what he did to me?!" Like I said, this was pretty much what we had expected her to say. Clearly, she was not going to be as easily persuaded as the rest of us had been.

"That's just it," said Sonya. "You've never really told us what he did to you. All you've ever said is that it was something bad and you want to get your revenge by killing him. Well, we've all decided we want no part in that." The rest of us, those of us who were members of Group B, nodded to back her up, letting Teresa know that she was outvoted, that the twenty-two of us had reached a unanimous decision to let the boy we were supposed to kill live. This did not go down well with Teresa.

"What about what that shank back at the gym told us?" she argued. "If we don't kill Thomas, we won't be allowed into the safe haven. Either he dies or all of us die - and I'd prefer it if _he_ died." She nodded contemptuously towards Thomas, who was still tied to the tree. "WICKED is good," she added, quoting the words she had written on her arm after she woke up in Group A's Glade. "We have to do what they . . ."

"No, we don't," I said, guessing what Teresa's next words would be. "We don't have to do every fuzzing thing WICKED tell us to do. Maybe the real test isn't to see if we have the guts to commit murder." I recalled what Thomas had said when he talked to us a few hours earlier about how all that stuff about us killing him was just another of WICKED's Variables. "Maybe we're only supposed to take it so far. Let Thomas think we're going to kill him and . . ."

"I bet he told you that," Teresa said, cutting me off in mid-sentence. The look on her face told me she was not about to give up without a fight, even though it was her against every girl from Group B who had made it this far.

"Yes. So what if he did?" This came from Flossie; she and Indira were, as usual, sitting next to me and all three of us had our hands on our weapons, fully prepared to use them if Teresa forced us to. And, glancing at the others, I noticed that they were all gripping their weapons as well in a united show of strength. Clearly, if Teresa wanted to kill Thomas, she would have to get past all of us first and, even with her spear, it was unlikely she would be able to do so. She might be able to take out one or two of us, but we had her outnumbered and we had all agreed that we were not going to go through with killing Thomas. And, if Teresa had any objections to that, she would just have to suck it up and find some other means of getting her revenge.

"So it's exactly what I'd expect a condemned shank to say to save his own shuck skin." Teresa's words were the cue for this impromptu gathering to start heating up, as she argued for Thomas's death and the rest of us argued that he should be allowed to live. Finally, realising she was never going to win against all of us, Teresa grabbed her spear and backpack and slung them over her shoulders. "Fine," she said, her tone letting everyone within earshot know how far from being "fine" she was. "You let him live if you want to, but you'll wish you hadn't when you can't get into the safe haven. Meanwhile, I'm leaving."

And, without saying another word, she stormed away from our camp and started heading north.

* * *

"Thank goodness for that," said Neffy, as Teresa disappeared from view. "I thought things were gonna get ugly for a moment there."

Harriet continued looking in the direction of the Pass for several seconds, before turning to address the rest of us. "Right," she said. "Now that's over, we'd better start getting ready to move out ourselves; we've only got a short time to make it through the mountains and reach the safe haven. So, as soon as we've eaten, get your gear together and we'll be off. Including Thomas," she added, nodding in the direction of the dead tree, where the boy whose life we had chosen to spare was still tied. I wondered what he was thinking at that moment. We had been careful to make sure he couldn't hear our discussion, but he must have seen that feelings were running high for many of us, especially Teresa. And, when she walked out of the camp . . .

"What about Teresa?" asked Emily, her words cutting through my train of thought.

Harriet shrugged her shoulders. "Never mind her. She's just ticked off that we wouldn't go along with her. She'll catch up with us once she gets over it." With that, she walked over to the tree and started to untie the rope which bound Thomas to the trunk.

* * *

Once we had eaten and gathered our belongings together, we set off through the Pass. Harriet took the lead and the rest of us fell in behind her, with Thomas bringing up the rear, leaving a gap of several feet between himself and everyone else. Even though we had tried to make him feel like one of us, I had a feeling he did not entirely trust us. And I could hardly blame him; if I'd been trussed up in a sack, dragged across the desert and tied to a tree by people who were out to kill me, I'd have a hard time believing that any change of heart by those people was genuine. I'd be on my guard, waiting to see if, having lulled me into a false sense of security, they were then going to turn round and kill me anyway.

And then there was the fact that Teresa had dished out most of the abuse Thomas had received, hitting and kicking him - and acting like she was enjoying it. If he had a hard time trusting us, he would have an even harder time trusting her, no matter what sort of relationship they'd had before. In many ways, that made it worse. It would have been one thing if a member of Group B had been the instigator; Thomas had no personal connection to us and, until recently, he didn't even know we existed. But Teresa was a member of his own group and, more than that, she and Thomas used to be friends. Now, however, the way she behaved towards him made it seem like she had completely turned against him to the point where she had an almost fanatical desire to see him dead.

After a couple of hours, Harriet told Sonya to take her place at the head of the column. She then drifted back until she was level with Thomas, who was still walking behind everyone else. The two of them started talking; I couldn't make out most of what they were saying, but I heard Teresa's name mentioned a couple of times and guessed Harriet was telling Thomas about the mission we had been sent on. The mission which was supposed to end in his death, only Thomas had persuaded us not to go through with it. All of us except Teresa, who had stormed off when she realised we weren't going to go along with what she wanted us to do, namely carry the mission to capture and kill Thomas through to its conclusion. And none of us had any way of knowing where she was or what she was doing. Perhaps, as Harriet had said, she was just sulking because we'd outvoted her and would catch up with us once she'd calmed down, but I had a feeling she was actually planning to carry out Janson's instructions by herself.

We continued to walk through the night, but the Pass proved to be longer than we had expected. By the time the sun rose in the sky, we were still making our way through the mountains, heading towards the safe haven we had been told lay on the other side.

* * *

There was, of course, no way we could continue our trek in the heat of the day. So, before the sun began to beat down on us unbearably, we stopped to make camp, seeking shelter in one of the caves cut out of the mountains. It wasn't as large as the first cave, but it was large enough to accommodate our entire party, including Thomas. He was still keeping his distance from the rest of us. Indeed, I suspected the main reason he was sticking with us, instead of leaving to look for his own group, was because he knew he wouldn't last very long if he tried to travel across the Scorch alone and without supplies or weapons. And then there was Teresa, once his friend, but now determined to kill him; such an act of betrayal would surely mean he could never fully trust her again.

"This must really suck for you," I said to Thomas as the twenty-three of us consumed some of our supplies before we turned in for the day. Somehow, I'd ended up sitting next to him and I'd just now decided to try and break the inevitable awkward silence. "I mean, the way Teresa treated you. It sounds like you guys used to be good friends until . . ."

"Yeah, "used to be" is right. Now, I don't know what to shucking think any more. There's a part of me that wants to see her, but there's another part that hopes I'll never have to look at her shuck face for the rest of my life." Thomas looked moodily down at the ground; I could almost sense the conflicting emotions inside him. "But I know one thing," he added. "I don't think I'll ever be able to trust her again after this."

I tried to imagine how I would feel in Thomas's shoes, how I would feel if Indira and/or Flossie had turned against me and wanted me dead. Much the same as Thomas now felt about Teresa, I suspected, though I hoped I would never have to find out. And where was Teresa anyway? She only had a couple of hours' head start on the rest of us, so why hadn't we seen any trace of her as we made our way through the Pass? Had WICKED picked her up in another of their Bergs? No, that couldn't be it; from what Teresa had said after her meeting with Thomas just outside the city, those things were enormous. So there was no way one could land round here and, even if it could, we would surely have noticed it.

In any case, my attempt to make conversation with Thomas soon petered out and we lapsed back into our uneasy silence.

* * *

As the sun set, Harriet and Sonya gathered us all together and told us it was time to move on. The deadline would soon expire, which meant we could not afford to waste any more time. We had been told we had to reach the safe haven within two weeks if we wanted to receive the promised cure and those two weeks were almost up. Two weeks, I thought to myself as we got ready to set off. Two weeks in a parched and barren land inhabited by people whose minds were being destroyed by a devastating virus that reduced its victims to animals in human form. Two weeks during which six more members of our group had died, though we hadn't lost anyone since Isabella and Donna were killed by the Cranks Yoko's group encountered while they were looking for Teresa.

Cranks. People infected with the Flare virus, doomed to turn from rational human beings to savage beasts whose only thought was to kill. And, according to Janson, we had all been given the Flare just before we set out on this mission to provide us with an incentive to obtain the cure. But something didn't add up; from what we'd been told, we should be at or near the end of the incubation period by now. So why were none of us showing any symptoms? I put this question to Flossie, who, as the former Keeper of the Medics, was the closest thing we had to a doctor.

"No idea," she said, shrugging. "But my guess is that either the symptoms are very subtle in the early stages or . . ." A long pause followed.

"Or what?" The thought of turning into a murderous lunatic or, worse, having to watch it happen to someone else frightened me, as I'm sure it frightened all of us. The Flare was a particularly cruel virus, not that viruses ever set out to be cruel, destroying its victim's humanity and leaving a vicious monster in its wake. And the only way we could hope to avoid this fate was to make it to the safe haven and receive the cure before it was too late.

"Or that guy was lying to us and we aren't infected after all," said Flossie. "And I for one hope it's the latter."

I hoped she was right about that; after all, WICKED had deceived us before. But, after everything we had been through over the past two years, it was hard to know what to believe. For all I knew, Janson had told us we were infected, knowing we might not believe him, which meant we really were infected. But did that mean all that stuff about the safe haven and the promised cure was a lie too? Had these Trials just been one of WICKED's Variables, a mission based on a false promise, just as the Maze Trials had been based on the false hope that we would be able to find the exit if we looked hard enough?

All these thoughts were too awful to contemplate, so I quickly tried to steer our conversation in another direction. But, for some reason, the only thing I could think of was what we would find at the end of our journey. "What do you think the safe haven will be like?" I found myself asking. Not that Flossie, or any of the others, knew the answer any more than I did.

"I don't know. Some sort of hospital, perhaps?"

The mention of the word "hospital" triggered one of the memories that had been left in my mind from before I was sent to the Glade. Hospitals, I recalled, were places to heal the sick, so it would make sense if there was one waiting for us once we were out of these mountains, with doctors and nurses standing by to administer the cure to everyone who made it to the end of the Scorch Trials. On the other hand, WICKED were an organisation to whom feeding people with lies and misinformation came as naturally as breathing.

* * *

Shouts from up ahead told me we had reached the end of the Pass, which meant the safe haven was only a few miles away. Despite my suspicions that WICKED had been lying to us all this time, I felt a small surge of excitement at the thought of finally reaching the end of these Trials. But I quickly tempered it with reason. With WICKED involved in all this, it was unlikely things were going to be straightfoward; in fact, I wouldn't put it past them to have some nasty surprise waiting for us once we reached the end of our journey.

I turned to Indira and Flossie. "What do you think?" I asked. "Want to see what's on the other side of these mountains?"

"The safe haven - or so that guy from WICKED said," Flossie replied. "But, after all the lies we've been fed over the last couple of years, who knows what we'll find?" Nevertheless, we had to go on; aside from the fact that we had been given a deadline by which we had to complete this mission, our supplies were rapidly running out. And, out here in this barren wasteland, we had no means of replenishing them. So, if we failed to make it to the safe haven in time, we would soon be facing death from starvation and dehydration. Which meant our only option was to press on.

Soon, all twenty-three of us - Thomas was the last to reach the end of the Pass - were standing at the top of a steep slope, staring out over a vast expanse of flat, featureless land. And, when I say featureless, I mean featureless; there was literally nothing for miles, no buildings, no plants or animals and no people apart from us. Certainly no people who could cure us of the deadly virus that was incubating in each of us and could begin to destroy our minds at any time.

As I stood there, I heard what some of the others were saying. And, from the sound of things, they were beginning to suspect that WICKED had played us all for fools, had been using us all this time, had tricked us into going on what was effectively a suicide mission. We had been promised that, if we arrived at the safe haven within two weeks, we would be rewarded with a cure for the Flare, but we had reached the end of our journey and could see no sign of either.

"What's going on here?"

"Where's this safe haven we were promised?"

"It's supposed to be around here someplace."

"Then where is it?"

"That rat-faced stick must've lied to us! There's nothing there except another fuzzing desert!" This came from Victoria, who made no attempt to hide her annoyance as she gestured towards the wasteland in front of us.

"Maybe we just can't see it," suggested Tegan, trying desperately to cling to the one slim hope we still had. Of course, it was a very slim hope indeed, especially after we had been deceived so often already. But maybe Tegan was right. Maybe the safe haven couldn't be seen from up here, so all we had to do was get to the bottom of the slope in order to reach our goal. But we had been sent on this mission by WICKED, so, safe haven or no safe haven, I knew things were not going to be as straightforward as that.

"Yeah." That was Harriet, who was trying to rally us before we all gave way to despair at the thought of being sent on a wild goose chase. "It might just be another entrance to one of their underground tunnels. I'm sure it's there."

After a brief discussion, we decided our only option was to keep heading north and see what we could find. At the very least, we might be able to make it to the bottom of the slope by sunrise. So, with Harriet and Sonya in the lead, we began to pick our way down the narrow, winding path which led to the desert below.


	27. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-six**

In the end, it took over two hours for us to reach the foot of the mountain, our progress impeded by the fact that we had to move carefully in case someone slipped and sustained a serious injury, which was the last thing any of us needed under our current circumstances. A stand of dead trees slowed us down even more. There was no way we could go around them, so we had to go straight through them, the branches catching on our clothes and scratching our faces and hands. At one point, Cass got the sleeve of her jacket well and truly snagged; she tried to free herself, but, in the end, the only way she could do so was to wriggle out of her jacket and leave it behind.

Apart from this, the downhill trek passed without incident - or so we thought. We had just made it to flat ground when Hillary said something which told us she had noticed something the rest of us hadn't. "Hey, where's Thomas?"

Her words were the cue for us to start looking around, trying to confirm that we were all present. Except it soon became clear that Hillary was right; we were not all present. And, just as she had said, the one who was missing was Thomas. What could have happened to him? The last time I saw him was just before we entered those dead trees; I'd glanced back to see that he was still trailing everyone else, a large gap separating him from Ruth, the girl who was second-to-last in our column of teenagers. So where was he now? Had he somehow become separated from us? Or was there another explanation? One involving Teresa . . .

"Well, we can't waste time looking for him," said Harriet, once it had been confirmed that Thomas was missing. "We've got a deadline to worry about, so we'll just have to keep going and hope he can catch up with us." She looked round at everyone. "For now, we'll get some sleep. But we have less than twenty-four hours left, so, when we start out again tonight, we won't be stopping until we reach the safe haven or . . ." She paused for several seconds as though she was trying to make her words sound dramatic. ". . . time runs out."

"Do you think there really is a safe haven?" This came from Emily, who was sitting with her back to the mountains, Tegan beside her. For a moment, I recalled how they had once been the youngest girls in the Glade, the Pips as we had called them. But they were not Pips any more and there was no longer anyone young enough to be considered a Pip in our group. Everyone who had made it this far was at least fourteen years old, assuming I had estimated their ages correctly.

"We don't know," said Sonya. "But we're not gonna give up looking."

* * *

Having slept away the daylight hours in the shade of the mountains, we prepared to set off again as soon as it was dark. There was still no sign of Thomas or Teresa, but we couldn't afford to worry about them right now; our main priority was to try and find the safe haven we had been told was waiting for us on this side of the mountains. We couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean it wasn't there, or at least that's what we told ourselves, not wanting to give up after coming so far. Perhaps, as Harriet had suggested, we had to go through one of WICKED's underground tunnels to reach the safe haven. Perhaps the safe haven itself was underground. That had to be it. That must be why we couldn't see it from the top of the slope.

Hours later, however, we still couldn't see anything and, to add to our troubles, a storm was brewing. The wind had picked up and clouds had formed in the sky, which would have provided relief from the unrelenting heat the Scorch was subjected to during the day had it not been for two things. Dust that was being whipped up by the wind was getting into our eyes, but none of us made any attempt to wipe them; we'd tried that during the last storm, only to find that all it did was make our eyes even more uncomfortable. But, more than that, we had been told the kind of storms they had in the Scorch were bad news for anyone who got caught out in the open. Massive bolts of lightning would fry you alive if you couldn't find shelter and there was no shelter out here.

Not having much choice in the matter, we continued walking, forming a tight pack, telling ourselves that the safe haven was out here somewhere and all we had to do was find it. But it was looking increasingly likely that we weren't going to find anything, that we were going to have to trek across this desert until time ran out or we all got struck by lightning, whichever came first. Either way, the chances of our journey ending with us reaching the safe haven, being cured of the Flare virus and living happily ever after were looking more remote as the morning wore on and we continued trudging across the desert, hoping against hope that we would find something before the deadline expired. But that hope was fading with every step we took.

I glanced back at one point to see another, smaller group of people heading in the same general direction as us, but from a point slightly to the west. Group A and their two companions. I couldn't see them clearly because of all the dust that was blowing about, but they seemed to have fewer people than they'd had when we captured Thomas, though I couldn't tell who (if anyone) was missing. They too were moving in a pack, leaning into the wind as they struggled to keep going. I wondered what was going through their minds, what each of them was thinking as they trekked across the desert in the increasingly vain hope of finding the promised safe haven. Much the same as I was thinking, I suspected, that WICKED had lied to them, that they had been sent on a mission to find something that had probably never existed, that they were going to be left to wander this desert until . . .

"I can see something! Something sticking out of the ground!"

Sonya's shout distracted me from my thoughts and I looked in the direction we were heading. I couldn't see whatever it was that had caught her attention, but at least it meant this desert wasn't completely featureless. Assuming the thing Sonya had seen was real and not a mirage.

* * *

The object sticking out of the ground turned out to be a stick with a length of orange ribbon attached to it, blowing in the wind like a flag. Curious, we stopped to look at it, all of us talking at once as we speculated about what it was and how it came to be in the middle of the desert. We knew it must have been put there by human hands, though we couldn't tell if those hands belonged to a member of WICKED or a Crank who, in a moment of Flare-induced madness, had decided to plant a stick in the ground and tie a ribbon to it. Either way, this thing didn't appear by itself, so someone must have placed it here. But why? For what purpose?

"Hey, guys," Neffy said after we had been staring at the ribbon on a stick for several minutes, "aren't we supposed to be looking for the safe haven?"

Harriet, who was nearest to the stick, looked up from where she had been examining the ribbon. "I think we've already found it." In response to those six words, we started bombarding our leader with questions.

"What do you mean, we've already found it?"

"It's a fuzzing stick in the ground with a ribbon tied to it! How is that a safe haven?"

"What's going on here?"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"I don't know," Harriet said when she could get a word in edgeways. "But take a look and you'll see what I mean."

Examining the ribbon, we soon discovered that there were words printed on it in capital letters, black text on an orange background. And those words put an end to any lingering hopes we might have had that our journey was going to end with us arriving at some kind of medical facility and being given the promised cure. Those words were:

 _THE SAFE HAVEN_

* * *

I could hardly believe what I was seeing, but it was right there in black and white, or rather black and orange. After everything we had been through, after spending two weeks crossing a parched and barren land filled with Cranks, after losing six more members of our group, we had reached the safe haven, this stick with a ribbon attached to it. Which, I realised, could only mean one thing: WICKED were up to their old tricks. They would never have sent us on this mission if its sole purpose was to test how we would react if we were given something to strive for, only for all our efforts to end in failure; they'd already done that with the Maze Trials and, with Rachel and Aris's help, we'd eventually found our way out of the Maze. So they must have one of their "little surprises" waiting in the wings.

And, as if the revelation about the safe haven wasn't bad enough, we faced another threat on top of whatever WICKED had in store for us. The sky was dark with clouds that looked ready to unleash an electrical storm at any moment and, if that storm broke while we were out in the open like this, some of us were sure to get electrocuted, possibly even all of us. We had been lucky with the last storm; no-one from our group had been killed. But that was because we had all made it to the safety of the tunnel in which we had spent the next six days. Here, there was nothing to protect us from the bolts of lightning that were going to descend at any moment. The mountains offered the only possible shelter for miles around, but trying to run back to them was out of the question, especially with WICKED's deadline looming. Besides, the odds of us all making it up that steep slope before the storm unleashed its fury were not in our favour.

"Look on the bright side," Indira said. She and Flossie were standing on either side of me, all three of us staring at the stick with its fluttering ribbon. "At least we made it here ahead of Group A."

"Yeah," Flossie added. "Maybe we'll all get prizes for being first."

But we knew enough about WICKED to know that the sort of prizes they gave out were the sort no-one wants to win.

* * *

"And what's a bunch of nice young ladies like you doing in a place like this?"

Several of us, myself included, looked up at the sound of the voice. The speaker was the Asian boy from Group A, the one who'd called after us while we were dragging Thomas across the desert. He was standing there with his arms folded, flanked by two members of his group: the blond guy with the bad leg and another guy who, though he was clearly still in his teens, had a full beard. The rest of Group A stood behind the trio, as did the man and the girl we had seen with them before. But there was no sign of Aris and I found myself wondering what had happened to him. However, I did not have long to think about this before Harriet stepped forward and asked to speak to Group A's leader.

The boy who'd spoken before pointed to himself. "Just call me Minho," he said. "That's Newt," he added, gesturing towards the blond boy. "And this . . ." He pointed again, this time in the direction of the boy with the beard. ". . . is Siggy, but, since he used to be in charge of the kitchens, we call him Frypan. As for the rest of these shanks, meet Clint, Larry, Jackson, Abe, Patrick and Bjorn. And let's not forget Jorge and Brenda." The man and the girl. "They're after the cure as well; Thomas promised them . . ." A frown crossed Minho's face for a moment. "What have you done with him? If you've . . ."

"It's OK," Harriet said. "I can explain."

Minho looked as though he was going to say something, but a quick glance at all the weapons those of us from Group B were carrying made him think twice. So he just shrugged, letting Harriet know she could go ahead and tell him our side of the story.

Harriet cleared her throat and began to explain everything. She talked about how we had put Thomas in the sack and dragged him across the desert because that was what we had been told to do, how Thomas had convinced all of us except Teresa that we were not really supposed to kill him, how Teresa had argued with us about this, how she had stormed off when it became clear that none of us were prepared to go along with her. Harriet was just talking about our trek through the Pass when Minho interrupted her.

"Then why ain't he with you now?"

"We don't know," Harriet told him honestly. "We got separated on the way here - that's all I can tell you."

Minho paused for several seconds before replying. "Wait a minute. You said Teresa was the one who was most keen on seeing the mission through? And you said she left your group after you decided you weren't gonna go ahead with the killing part?"

"Yes. So?"

"So she probably decided to carry out WICKED's instructions by herself. And that's not all," Minho added. "We ain't seen Aris since yesterday, so he's probably in on it as well. You know about Aris, right? He used to be with you guys until WICKED swapped him and Teresa over. Anyway, I never trusted either of 'em. So, if they've done anything to Thomas . . ." He left the last sentence unfinished, but there was no doubt as to how he would have concluded it. If Teresa and Aris showed up here without Thomas, Minho was going to make life very uncomfortable for both of them, especially if it turned out that the reason for Thomas's absence was because they had killed him. And, even if Thomas was still alive, I had a feeling they would have their work cut out getting the members of Group A to trust them again. If anyone from that group had ever trusted them in the first place.

"By the way," Minho said, abruptly steering the subject away from Thomas, Teresa and Aris, "you had any luck finding the safe haven?"

In reply, Harriet pointed to the stick that was still poking out of the ground, its orange ribbon blowing in the wind.

* * *

We were all (the members of Groups A and B, plus Brenda and Jorge) gathered around the stick when Thomas, Teresa and Aris caught up with us. Minho, seeing them first, stepped away from the main group and stood facing the trio. "It's about time you slowpokes caught up with us!" I heard him shout. There followed a brief exchange between him and Thomas, the gist of which was that Minho didn't like Teresa and Aris, that he thought they were both traitors. Thomas, however, said they were on our side. And this despite the fact that Teresa had treated him so badly, had had him dragged across the desert in a sack, had beaten and kicked him, had acted like she was enjoying what she was doing. I wondered why, after all that, Thomas was prepared to trust her and Aris, but I didn't have long to think about it before Minho yelled at us to "make a path".

We moved aside, revealing the stick and ribbon that was supposed to be the safe haven. Thomas approached it slowly, falling to his knees and reaching out to touch the ribbon, an expression of disbelief on his face. Then, he turned back to Minho, Teresa and Aris, who were standing nearby. "We have over an hour to go," he said, checking his watch. "Our safe haven is a stick in the ground?"

Minho acted as though this was no big deal. "Wasn't so bad, when you think about it. More than half of us made it here. Looks like even more of the girlie group." He gestured towards all the kids from Groups A and B who were still grouped in a circle with the stick at the centre.

In response, Thomas got to his feet, struggling to control his obvious anger. "Has the Flare turned you crazy already?!" he demanded. "Yeah, we got here. Safe and sound. To a _stick_." He practically spat the last word out, letting everyone within earshot know how pissed off he felt at the way WICKED had enticed us here with the promise of a cure for the Flare, only for all our efforts to be "rewarded" like this. I half-expected him to pull the stick out of the ground - it didn't look like it was very firmly anchored - and break it across his knee to vent his frustration.

"Dude, they wouldn't send us here for no reason," said Minho. He then added that, since we had reached the safe haven within the two-week time limit WICKED had given us, all we had to do was wait until we actually hit the deadline, at which point something would happen. Trouble was, knowing WICKED, whatever happened was sure to be bad news for us. After everything we had been through, it was too much to hope that this really was a safe haven; more likely, it was the place where some, if not all, of those who'd made it this far were going to meet their end, especially with the storm getting closer with every passing minute. Thomas summed it up in four words.

"That's what worries me."

* * *

Indira, Flossie and I peeled away from the main group at that point and went to sit on the ground. Others did the same, separating into pairs or small groups of friends and slumping down in the desert sand, trying to look at anything except the stick and its fluttering orange ribbon, which almost seemed to be mocking us. There were no two ways about it. We had been lured to this spot by WICKED's lies and there was now nothing we could do except wait and see what new terror they sent after us. If the lightning didn't get us first. The clouds were now oppressively low, the wind continued to buffet us and I could already see flashes of light in the sky. So it was only a matter of time before the storm broke over us and something told me it was not going to hold off for much longer.

Then, with thirty-five minutes to go before the deadline expired, things started to happen. Sections of the ground began to pivot open with a deafening screech of metal that was audible even above the howling wind, revealing several coffin-like pods identical to the ones we had seen after we escaped from the Maze. The pods where the Grievers rested when they weren't patrolling the Maze in search of human prey. I didn't know if these pods also contained Grievers, but, whatever they contained, we were completely surrounded. And, all the while, the storm was getting closer and closer. As a result of either WICKED's latest horrors or being zapped by bolts of lightning, some of us at least were not going to get out of here alive.

Ten minutes after the pods appeared, their lids started to open. Terrified, we began to back away, trying to put as much distance as possible between us and the pods. Since these things were all around us, this meant we ended up bunched together in the middle of the circle, thirty-six people, most of whom were teenagers, trapped with nowhere to run. About to face whatever nightmarish creatures WICKED had sent after us this time.


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

They climbed out of the pods. Tall, roughly humanoid in shape, their skin thick and wrinkled, their heads completely devoid of facial features, they seemed to be neither male nor female. They had four stubby fingers on each hand, four stubby toes on each foot. Their bodies were covered in strange orange growths, one on each elbow and knee, around a dozen on their chests and backs, plus several more on their heads. And those growths were glowing like light bulbs, making the creatures seem even more freakish than they were already. I needed no-one to tell me who had created these things; nor did I need anyone to tell me that we were going to have to fight them. The creatures - there were between thirty and forty of them - had us completely surrounded.

WICKED's latest monstrosities had emerged from their pods on their hands and knees, but they now staggered to their feet and stood facing us. Of course, they weren't really facing us because they didn't have faces, but you know what I mean. Anyway, as we all watched, they raised their hands to the sky, seconds before blades suddenly shot out of their fingers and toes, as well as from their shoulders. And those blades looked like they could do a lot of damage; I only hoped our weapons would be enough to damage the creatures in return.

The creatures emitted an eerie moan, the sound audible even above the noise of the storm, which was now almost directly overhead. Then, as Minho shouted for everyone to grab whatever weapons they had, they began to advance on us. At first, their steps were slow and clumsy like those of a toddler just finding his or her feet, but it wasn't long before they were marching confidently towards us, ready to slash us to ribbons with their blades. But we weren't going to go down without a fight, not after we'd come so far and especially not after all the losses we'd already suffered. We knew this battle would result in even more losses, but, even if we were completely wiped out, we meant to take at least some of these abominations down with us.

Minho and Harriet, as the respective leaders of Groups A and B, took charge of organising us, arranging us so that we stood in a circle, facing the creatures. I found myself standing between Indira and Bjorn. The latter was, as far as I could tell, the youngest member of Group A, at least of those who'd made it this far, probably fourteen years old, with light brown hair and blue-grey eyes that bore a look of steely determination as he faced our advancing foes. I couldn't see Flossie from where I was standing, but I knew she was there, gripping her weapon (a sword) in her hand, ready to fight. I quickly pulled my machete out of my belt and braced myself to attack the creature nearest to me.

"Now!" Minho shouted once the creatures were about eight metres from us, his words almost drowned out by the storm. "Charge them!"

* * *

Yelling an impromptu war cry, I ran towards the nearest creature and thrust my machete into its thigh, only to hit something solid, something metallic. Which, I realised as I dodged a slashing blow from the creature and pulled my machete free from its wrinkled flesh, could only mean the creatures were bio-mechanical like the Grievers, which meant defeating them would be difficult. Especially since, unlike in the battle against the Grievers, we had no means of shutting these things down. All we could do was keep fighting and hope someone found a weakness in the creatures that we could use to our advantage; otherwise, none of us would get out of here alive. And, as I made a few more attempts to stab my foe, each of which had the same result as the first, I saw for myself how deadly our opponents were.

Neffy, on Indira's other side, attempted to use her knife to stab the creature she was fighting. But, before she could do so, the creature lashed out and raked the blades on both its hands down her chest, tearing her top and leaving eight deep scratches in her flesh. She fell to her knees, clutching her torn and blood-stained top, as the creature came at her again, and again, attacking her relentlessly, giving her no chance to fight back or escape. There was nothing I could do; I had my own creature to fight and there was no time to worry about anyone else. Within moments, Neffy lay on the ground, her throat slashed by one of the creature's blades, the first fatality of the battle against these monsters.

I quickly turned my gaze away from Neffy's body and back to the creature I was fighting, telling myself that, no matter what was happening around me, I must focus solely on my own battle. The creature lashed out at me with its blades, but I dodged out of the way and came at it again with my machete. This time, since stabbing the thing wasn't working, I tried slashing it, though, given its thick skin, I didn't expect to do much damage. Purely by chance, I hit one of the orange bulbs which covered the creature's body, causing it to explode in a shower of sparks. The creature staggered back, damaged but by no means out of the fight. Even so, it was enough to make me realise that I may have found the weakness in these things; if I could destroy all the bulbs on its body, I might be able to finish it off. But could I do so before the creature finished me off?

Deciding I had nothing to lose, I went for the bulb on the creature's left knee, stabbing the point of my machete into the orange growth. Another shower of sparks. My third attempt ended in a miss and I had to duck to avoid getting slashed, but I quickly recovered and went after the creature again, stabbing and slashing at the bulbs, sending up more sparks as the growths were destroyed. I took a few blows from my opponent, but nothing serious. And, as I watched, I noticed that its movements were becoming slow and clumsy, as though it was losing energy somehow. It did not take me long to realise that my theory about the bulbs had been correct.

"Quick!" I shouted to Indira and Bjorn, both of whom were still fighting their respective creatures, though not having much luck. Fortunately, they had been able to avoid most of the creatures' counter-attacks; Bjorn's shirt was ripped and there was a bleeding wound on Indira's upper arm, but neither of them was out of the battle, yet. But, if things were going to have any chance of staying that way . . . "Go for the bulbs!" I yelled. "That's their weak spot!"

Talking of which, I then thrust my machete into a bulb on my creature's chest. More sparks. My creature was now visibly weakened, but I knew I couldn't stop until all the bulbs were destroyed. And then there were the rest of these things, most of which still had all their bulbs intact. Glancing at Indira and Bjorn, I saw that they had taken my advice and were attacking the bulbs on the creatures they were fighting. A few of the others were doing the same, including Teresa, who was jabbing at her creature's bulbs with the butt of her spear. Most, however, continued to hack and stab at the creatures, not making any attempt to target the bulbs. Then, as I watched, one of the boys from Group A - Patrick, if I remembered correctly - launched himself at his creature in a reckless attempt to fight it at close quarters. In less than a minute, he joined Neffy on the list of the dead.

I continued my assault, destroying my creature's bulbs one by one, watching as the thing became weaker and weaker, dodging its increasingly futile attacks. Soon, all the bulbs had shattered except one of those on the creature's chest. I stood over the creature, which was now prone on the ground, and thrust my machete into the one remaining bulb. A final shower of sparks and the creature lay still, never to move again.

* * *

I had no time to celebrate my victory before the first bolt of lightning came, slamming into one of the creatures and incinerating it on the spot. There was nothing left of it except a hand and a foot, which lay on the edge of a blackened crater. More bolts followed, taking out more of the creatures, but I knew it was only a matter of time before one of the bolts hit a human being. And, then, it happened. Several bolts struck in quick succession, causing the people nearby to scream and fling themselves to the ground. But one of those people, Tegan, took a direct hit; her scream was abruptly cut off as the white hot lightning burned her to a crisp.

As sheets of rain started coming down and light continued to flash in the clouds, I quickly made a decision. If I stayed out in the open, I would suffer the same fate as Tegan. I had to find shelter, but the only shelter I had any chance of reaching in time was the pods which had housed the creatures. "Indira! Bjorn! Follow me!" I shouted. I was not prepared to save myself and leave all the others to get electrocuted in the storm, but I knew I had no time to save everyone, just those nearest to me. As for the rest of us, all I could do was hope that some of them at least would be able to make it to the other pods.

I started running towards the nearest pod, followed by Indira and Bjorn. About half-way there, I saw Emily standing stock still, staring helplessly at the blackened corpse that used to be Tegan. Her best friend. I recalled how the two of them had always done everything together, had rarely been apart in the more than two years I had known them. But not any more. Tegan had been struck by lightning, joining the ever-expanding list of kids who had died in the name of WICKED and their Variables. Janson had claimed that every death was "for the greater good", but was anything, even finding a cure for a devastating disease like the Flare, worth so many young lives? However, I had no time to think about it; there was no telling when or where the next lightning bolt would strike.

I took hold of Emily's arm. "Come with us!" I had to shout so that she could hear me above the noise of the storm.

She shook her head, rainwater - or was it tears as well? - pouring down her face. "Tegan . . ."

"You can't help her now!" I told her, as the storm continued to unleash its fury around us. "You must save yourself! Come on!" I took a quick glance at the others, a few of whom were still fighting the creatures, while the rest were either trying to avoid getting fried alive or lying dead on the ground. Another lightning bolt came crashing down, fortunately with no-one in its path, though a few people were hit by the hot sand which was blasted into the air. "Come on!" I shouted again, urging Emily forward. With Indira and Bjorn running alongside us, we made for the nearest pod, hoping it would be enough to keep all four of us alive for at least the next few minutes.

* * *

Reaching the pod, we found that a small pool of water had formed inside. It also stank. But, since the only alternative was to stay outside and risk getting electrocuted, we climbed in. Indira entered the pod first, then Bjorn, then Emily. As soon as I had joined them, we leaned forward and, grunting with the effort, pulled the lid down over us. Then, we ducked our heads, allowing the pod to close completely and plunging us into darkness. I could still hear the storm raging outside, the rain pounding on the roof of our makeshift shelter, the lightning bolts crashing all around us, but we should be safe in here. If these pods were lightning-proof, but it was too late to worry about that now.

"How long have we got?" Indira asked.

I switched on my watch's light; it barely provided any illumination, but it was enough to allow me to check the time. "Eight minutes." I wondered what we would do if we were still in here when the deadline expired, but I decided we would cross that bridge if and when we came to it. For now, I asked my three companions how they were holding up. Indira and Bjorn replied that they were doing about as well as could be expected in our current circumstances, though Indira added that she hoped the pod would stand up to a direct hit from one of the lightning bolts. Emily, however, just sighed.

"I'd be OK if Tegan was here," she said, overlooking the fact that this pod was barely big enough for four. But I decided it would be tactless to point this out; after all, Tegan had been her friend.

"Just try to be strong," I told her instead. "I'm sure that's what she'd want you to do. And try to think about what she was like when she was alive." A trick I'd started using whenever memories of Christie's death threatened to overwhelm me; each time I recalled the moment one of the Grievers broke into the Dwelling and dragged her to her doom, I would push it away and think instead of the friendly girl who had been like a younger sister to me. It was still a sad memory, but it was better than thinking about the horrific way in which she had died.

"If it helps," Bjorn added, "I know how she feels. We - my group - lost seven people in the last big storm. And one of them was my best friend. His name was Matthew . . ." He paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "He and I were among the first kids sent to our Glade. There were thirty of us and we were the youngest, so we naturally ended up spending most of our time together."

I quickly realised the significance of this statement. From what Bjorn was saying, it sounded as if he and this Matthew kid had been Group A's version of Emily and Tegan. When WICKED chose the subjects from Groups A and B who would be sent to their respective Glades first, they must have made sure each group included two kids who were slightly younger than the rest. Bjorn and Matthew in Group A, Emily and Tegan in Group B. In both cases, those two kids had become close friends, presumably drawn together by the fact they were younger than everyone else in the first batches of subjects. And, in both cases, one of those kids had been killed by lightning, Matthew several days back, Tegan moments ago.

We remained in the pod for the next few minutes, listening as the storm continued its destructive rampage, wondering which (if any) of the others were still alive. I was just contemplating the possibility that the four of us might be the only ones left out of all the kids who had been stolen by WICKED and used as human guinea pigs when I suddenly became aware of a strange sound coming from outside. A humming sound. I could barely hear it at first because of all the noise the storm was making, but it gradually increased in volume until the whole pod started to vibrate. And, then, I heard a sound that I initially took to be the wind, only to realise as I listened more closely that there was something different about this wind, that whatever was causing it wasn't something natural.

* * *

"What's making all that noise?" asked Emily, as we continued to listen to the sounds coming from outside the pod.

"I don't know," I said, thinking that it had to be WICKED's doing, that, not content with sending an army of bio-mechanical monsters to attack us, they had sent some new horror to wipe out whoever had survived the battle. To say nothing of the lightning storm. There was, however, no way of knowing as long as we stayed in this pod. "But we've got less than a minute. I think we should risk opening this thing up, see what's happening out there."

I exchanged glances with my three companions, whose faces all bore the same expression, an expression which said opening the pod could be suicidal with the storm still showing no sign of letting up. But, since we didn't have much choice in the matter, we reached towards the ceiling of our shelter and pushed until the pod flipped open. The rain pummelled us, but we had no time to worry about this before we saw a huge craft with blue flames shooting out of its thrusters coming in to land. And, just as we hit the deadline, it descended to the ground on claw-like landing gear and the cargo door slowly opened.

"What is it?" Indira asked, a note of awe in her voice as we stared at the thing which had landed just metres from where we crouched in the bottom half of a coffin-like pod. Neither she, nor Emily, nor myself had ever seen anything like it as far as we could remember, but I sensed that it had something to do with the Scorch Trials. Perhaps it was the safe haven, or at least the thing which would take us to the safe haven. Perhaps we had been directed to this spot so that this flying machine could come pick us up and whisk us away from here, taking us to a place where we would receive the promised cure and live happily ever after. But, after everything we had been through, I doubted things were going to be that straightforward. It would be just our luck if this flying machine delivered us right back into WICKED's clutches.

"A Berg," Bjorn replied. "I've seen one before, when Thomas got shot. It was a few days before your lot . . ." He cleared his throat as though he had changed his mind about what he was originally going to say. ". . . picked him up. One of the Cranks in that city shot him with a rusty bullet. We all thought he was gonna die until these shanks in green came in a machine like that one and whisked him off. I heard Jorge call the machine a Berg. Anyway, they took Thomas away for a few days and, when they brought him back, he was healed."

I frowned, sensing that there was something Bjorn wasn't telling me. "And who were these people?"

"Thomas said they were from WICKED. And he said the reason they saved him was because him getting shot wasn't part of the Variables, or some klunk like that."

I wondered what Bjorn meant by "klunk", then decided that it must be one of Group A's slang words. But I would have to ask what it meant later; right now, we had more important things to worry about. The Berg - Teresa had explained about the one which picked her up and took her to the shack outside the city, but her words had been unable to convey the sheer scale of the things - was our only ticket out of the Scorch. We had to reach it before it took off again.

"Come on!" I called. And, with Bjorn, Emily and Indira running alongside me, I began to sprint across the rain-soaked ground, making for the Berg.


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

I saw Thomas, Teresa, Jorge and Brenda emerging from another of the pods. Clearly, one of them had had the same idea I had, though I had no way of knowing which of them it was and there was no time to think about it. We had to get to the Berg before it took off again and left us stranded in the Scorch. Not to mention that we still had a lethal electric storm to worry about. Somehow, we must reach the safety of the craft which had landed nearby without being struck by lightning and the odds of us all making it were slim. But, since the Berg was our only hope of getting out of here, we had no choice. We had to take a chance, try to get through the open cargo door and hope that some of us at least would be able to avoid the lightning.

And so we ran towards the Berg, everyone who was still alive. I did not know exactly how many of us were left, but I estimated that, with Groups A and B combined, there were between twenty-five and thirty of us, including Jorge and Brenda. Which meant at least six kids were dead, possibly as many as eleven. More young lives lost. But there was no time to dwell on them; we had to save ourselves and that meant reaching the Berg before whoever was piloting it decided they weren't prepared to wait any longer. I could see people standing inside the Berg, but none of them looked like they were going to come out any time soon, which meant . . .

My thoughts were cut off abruptly, as twelve of the creatures we had been fighting earlier appeared from around the other side of the Berg. They walked slowly and jerkily, their movements impaired by the fact that several bulbs on each of them had been shattered, but their blades still looked as deadly as ever. And as they assembled in front of us, cutting us off from the Berg, I saw that a number of those blades were stained with what could only be human blood.

I was just wondering how we were going to get past these things when I heard someone yelling: "Go right through 'em!" It was Thomas, who was leading several others, including Minho and Newt, in a charge towards the creatures. I needed no-one to tell me what he was trying to do: eliminate the remnants of the bio-mechanical army which WICKED had sent against us. Which, with many of the bulbs destroyed, shouldn't be as difficult as fighting these things when all their bulbs were intact. And we now had a considerable advantage in term of numbers, or we would if more of us joined in the charge.

"Come on!" I shouted, raising my machete above my head. And, with Indira, Emily and Bjorn running alongside me, I led the dozen or so kids who had not joined in the initial charge into battle. Another lightning bolt came crashing down, taking out one of the girls from Group B; I heard the scream, though I couldn't tell who the victim was. I knew, however, that it was not Flossie, since I could see her up ahead, running headlong into the fray with Harriet and a few other girls. But my relief at knowing she was still alive was somewhat tempered by the knowledge that we were not out of the woods yet; these last few creatures might be crippled, but they could still slash us with their blades. Our only chance was to wipe them out before they killed any more of us.

* * *

It did not take long to eliminate the remaining creatures. Indira and I teamed up against the one on the far right, while Emily and Bjorn took on its immediate neighbour. Everyone who had made it this far joined in the battle, some fighting the creatures one-on-one, others two-on-one or even three-on-one. As we had expected, the creatures did not go down without a fight and a few people got slashed by their blades, but no-one (by which I mean no human) was killed, or even seriously injured. With roughly half their bulbs destroyed, the creatures were no longer any match for us, especially since we now had them outnumbered. Indira and I finished off our creature in a matter of seconds. Next to us, Emily and Bjorn, having shattered all but two of the bulbs on theirs, raised their weapons simultaneously and brought them down on the remaining orange growths.

In less than a minute, all the creatures were dead, their bodies covered in loose pockets of flesh that had once glowed bright orange. We had won, but, before we could even think about congratulating each other, the Berg's thrusters ignited and it began to take off; clearly, those on board were unable (or unwilling) to wait for us any longer. "It's leaving! Hurry!" Thomas shouted, pointing to the craft that was our only ticket out of the Scorch. None of us needed telling twice; we all started running in the direction of the Berg, desperate to reach it before it got too far off the ground. The storm was still raging and, as I ran, I saw lightning flash in the sky. Someone, a boy this time, screamed, but there was no time to worry about who it might be. We had to reach the Berg before it was too late.

Indira, Emily and I got there first, along with Bjorn and another boy from Group A, Clint. The latter was a short guy, who, though he was at most in his late teens, already had flecks of grey in his dark hair. We took a running leap and dived through the open cargo bay door as the Berg continued to rise. Then, Flossie joined us, followed by Yoko, Harriet and Sonya, Minho and Newt, Jackson, Trix and several others. Thomas and Teresa reached the Berg together. Thomas made the jump, hauled himself on board, then reached out to pull Teresa in after him; she collapsed on top of him, a position which made me wonder what was going through their minds at that moment. Even though they had fought alongside each other in the recent battle, not to mention that they had both taken shelter in the same pod, I had a feeling their friendship had been irreparably damaged by Teresa's actions in the Scorch. Which meant they were, at best, allies.

The Berg, now two metres off the ground, was starting to tilt, but three people were still not on board; Martha, Aris and Brenda were all dangling from the edge and, unless someone pulled them in quickly, they risked a very nasty fall once the Berg really started to climb. I watched as Harriet and Newt reached out to help Martha, Minho to assist Aris. Soon, everyone was safely inside the Berg except Brenda, who was trying to pull herself up but not having much luck. It was Thomas and Teresa, lying on their stomachs, who reached out to grab Brenda's arms. But the door was wet from all the rain and, as I watched in horror, Thomas started to slip. It looked as though he, Teresa and Brenda were going to fall, until Jorge stepped in and grabbed hold of Thomas and Teresa, preventing either of them from sliding any further.

Once Thomas and Teresa had pulled Brenda aboard, everyone was on the Berg. That is to say, everyone who was still alive. Ten kids lay dead on the ground below, some struck by lightning, others slashed to death by the creatures. Abe, Larry and Patrick from Group A. Hillary, Irene, Julia, Neffy, Ruth, Sylvia and Tegan from Group B. But twenty-four of WICKED's test subjects had survived the Scorch Trials. And, unless Janson had been lying to us, we would soon be given the cure we had been promised.

* * *

"Who are these two people?!"

The speaker was a red-headed man, who was pointing a gun at Brenda and Jorge as they huddled together on the floor of the Berg. It looked as though he meant business and it seemed he hadn't been expecting to pick up anyone other than the kids who had been forced to risk their lives in the Scorch, the kids who had come through this mission alive. "Somebody answer me!" he shouted, his gun still aimed at the two people who had accompanied Group A during the Trials. Neither Brenda nor Jorge looked at the man who was threatening them; they remained where they were, not speaking, trying to avoid looking at the door, which was still wide open even though we were now several feet off the ground and getting higher all the time.

It was Thomas who came to Brenda and Jorge's defence. He said he and the rest of Group A had made a deal with the pair, promised them they would get the cure as well if they helped them to reach the safe haven. Besides, there were still fewer of us than there had been at the start, even with two extra passengers. But this was not enough to satisfy the man. "Doesn't matter," he retorted. "We didn't say you could bring citizens!"

Thomas, however, was not about to give up and responded by pointing out that we had come to the safe haven as we had been instructed. The man paused as if to mull over this argument in his mind, while the Berg continued to climb higher in the sky and everyone tried to avoid getting too close to the open door. None of us wanted to fall to our deaths just when we had passed the Scorch Trials and the cure was hopefully within our grasp.

"Sometimes I forget how little you people understand what's going on," said the man. "Fine, you can keep one of 'em. The other goes."

"What do you mean . . ." Thomas struggled to maintain his composure. ". . . the other goes?"

I had a good idea what "the other goes" meant, but I wondered why this man, who clearly didn't want Brenda and Jorge on the Berg, would agree to spare either of them. Unless . . . It suddenly dawned on me that he was working for WICKED, which suggested that this was another test, another Variable. And something told me this test, assuming it was a test, was meant for Thomas alone. Which meant the rest of us should not do anything to interfere.

The man clicked off the safety catch on his gun, then held the barrel to Brenda's head. "We don't have time for this!" he shouted. "You have five seconds to choose the one who stays. Don't choose and they both die." And, with that, he started counting out loud, as Teresa had done when she forced Thomas to surrender by threatening to have us start shooting his companions. Brenda and Jorge looked down at the floor, visibly frightened, knowing at least one of them had a matter of seconds to live.

* * *

"Four! Choose right now or they both die!"

Thomas stepped forward, pointed to Brenda. "Kill _her_ ," he said, his distaste at having to utter those two words obvious in his tone of voice. It made me wonder if he suspected this was one of WICKED's tests and was playing along, making the choice he was expected to make in the hope that, by agreeing to sacrifice Brenda, he would end up sacrificing Jorge instead. Or that the man with the gun would then spare both of Group A's companions and reveal that he had been bluffing all along. I hoped it would be the latter; enough lives had been lost already.

But the man's response was not the one Thomas was evidently hoping for, though, given how often WICKED had manipulated and deceived us in the past, that should have been expected. Instead of saying Thomas had "passed the final test", or something along those lines, he seemed to take Thomas at his word, shoving his gun into his waistband, then grabbing hold of Brenda and pulling her to her feet. He began to drag her towards the open door, clearly intending to push her out of the Berg. And the craft was now so high that there was no way she could survive the resulting fall. Brenda did not struggle as she was dragged to her doom, but I saw her looking at Thomas and the expression on her face gave me a start. Fear mixed with pain and a sense of betrayal. I'd seen the same expression on Thomas's face only a couple of days ago.

The next thing I knew, Thomas had tackled the man and knocked him to the floor. Brenda fell as well, dangerously close to the opening through which the man had intended to push her; luckily, Teresa managed to grab her before she went plunging to her death. I'd noticed an undercurrent of animosity between Teresa and Brenda, but apparently that didn't extend to Teresa wanting Brenda dead. Thomas, meanwhile, had gained possession of the man's gun and was pointing it at him. "No-one else dies," he told Brenda's would-be murderer, breathing heavily as he continued to stand over him with the gun in his hands. "If we haven't done enough to pass your stupid tests, then we fail. The tests are over."

The man, a slight smile on his face, backed away from Thomas and, as he did so, the door finally began to close. As soon as it was shut, he told us his name was David and assured us that the Trials were over, so there would be no more attempts to deceive us. Thomas made it clear he didn't believe a word of this and I could hardly blame him. After all the lies WICKED had fed us, I didn't believe what David was saying myself and I suspected the others felt the same. But, in the end, we had no choice but to go along with him for the simple reason that, even if we were able to hijack the Berg, none of us knew how to fly it.

* * *

A couple of hours later, with everyone fed and watered and provided with clean clothes, we were all assembled in the Berg's mid-section, all of us except Brenda and Jorge. None of us had seen the pair since the stand-off between Thomas and David, which made me wonder what had happened to them. Were they still alive, albeit in another part of the ship? Or had David disposed of them in some way, even after Thomas had made it clear he didn't want anyone else to die? Of course, where WICKED were concerned, it was easy to suspect the worst, but I did not have long to dwell on this before Indira and Flossie came to join me.

"So," Indira said, as she and Flossie sat down beside me on the couch I was sitting on, "what do you think?"

"I don't know," I told her. I glanced across at Bjorn and Emily, who were seated on another couch, both of them fast asleep, their heads resting on each other's shoulders. Seeing them like that, I suddenly thought how young they looked, as if they were still the same ages they were when they were sent to their respective Glades more than two years ago. They'd been through a lot in that time, including seeing their best friends struck by lightning, but it looked as though they had found solace in each other. But, after everything we'd been through, I knew there was no telling how long that would last. I turned my attention back to Indira. "These sticks have treated us well enough so far," I went on. "But so did that lot who "rescued" us from the Maze - and we know how _that_ turned out."

Neither Indira nor Flossie said anything, but I could tell from the expressions on their faces that they were thinking the same thing I was. That WICKED had once again "rescued" us from a terrible place in order to send us somewhere even worse, though it was hard to imagine anything worse than the Scorch. That whatever they had in store for us next was bound to result in even more of us being killed when there had been enough deaths already. More than enough. Only eight kids from Group A and sixteen from Group B had made it through the Scorch Trials; if things continued like this, there would eventually be none of us left. Unless all that stuff about the safe haven and the cure was true and we had no reason to believe it was.

"Well," Flossie said at last, "let's worry about it later. Right now, all I want to do is sleep." And, within moments, she was doing exactly that, leaning against Indira with her eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady. It did not take long before Indira joined her in slumber. A quick glance round at the others told me my friends, plus Bjorn and Emily, were not the only ones who had fallen asleep; only three people apart from myself were still awake. Minho was attempting to talk to Yoko but getting no response from her, while Teresa had sought out Thomas and, from what I could hear, appeared to be trying to persuade him to forgive her for what she had done to him. Apparently, it was all part of some plan, though Teresa didn't go into details about what that plan involved, presumably because she'd already explained, or tried to explain, it to Thomas back in the Scorch. But I had a feeling that, as far as he was concerned, Teresa's actions were going to take some forgiving.

I continued to listen to them talking until I felt my eyelids growing heavy. The last thing I heard before I dozed off was Thomas murmuring: "Maybe you're right."

* * *

I awoke to find three people looking down at me, all of them wearing green one-piece suits, their faces obscured by gas masks that made them look like giant insects. In fact, I thought they _were_ giant insects at first, another of the horrors created by WICKED. I screamed and tried to get up, only for one of the strange insect people to reach out and restrain me. "No! Get away from me!" I shrieked, panicking as my mind jumped to the conclusion that they wanted to kill me. "Get away from me!" I began to struggle against the one holding me down, convinced that these . . . whatever they were meant me harm.

It was then that I heard a voice coming from one of the insect people, the one who was restraining me. A woman's voice; I could tell even though the sound was muffled by the mask she was wearing. "Calm down, Jenny - no-one's going to hurt you. You're quite safe with us." But I was in such a state of panic that these words hardly registered. It was then that I started screaming, and screaming. Each scream felt like I was ripping my throat open, but I didn't care. I just wanted these horrors to go away and leave me alone.

"Sedate her," one of the insect people, a man this time, said after I had been screaming for a few minutes.

Hearing this, I renewed my struggles, continuing to scream all the while. But it was only a matter of seconds before one of the insect people jabbed a needle into my arm and injected something into my veins. Seconds after that, I fell into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

* * *

The next time I awoke, I was lying on some kind of couch with something attached to my left arm, a tube going into my veins. Thinking it could only mean something bad, I tried to pull it out, but, before I could do so, a woman's voice told me to stop. "Leave it; we're using it to administer the cure." I turned to see her standing beside me, dressed in the same kind of one-piece the people I had seen when I first woke up had been wearing, though she was not wearing a mask, so I was able to see what she looked like. Grey eyes, blonde hair pinned up in a bun, probably in her mid thirties. I wondered if she was the same woman I had seen before, but I had no way of knowing. Besides, all I cared about was the fact that she looked like a human being, not some giant mutant insect.

"Where's everyone else?" I asked, thinking of Indira and Flossie and all the others who had been picked up in the Berg. My voice was hoarse, suggested that I had been out for a few days, but I didn't care about that; I just wanted to know my friends and the rest of the survivors were safe. After all, I hadn't seen them since I fell asleep on the Berg. "Are they getting the cure too?" That had to be it, I told myself. My fellow subjects, the ones who had survived, must also be lying on couches, having the cure we had fought so hard to obtain injected into them. Perhaps, at this very moment, Indira or Flossie was asking after me.

To my surprise the woman shook her head. Then, she spoke, hesitating as if she was about to break some terrible news. "Jenny, I don't know how to tell you this," she said finally. "But Cranks broke into our headquarters a few days ago. There were over a hundred of them, all of them armed. We've had break-ins before, but not on this scale. Our security staff tried to stop them, but several of them got into the Berg which had just returned from the Scorch . . ." A long pause followed.

Hoping against hope that the pause didn't mean what I feared it meant, I uttered two words. "The others?"

The woman shook her head, sorrow showing in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Jenny," she said. "But you were the only one we were able to save."


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

Nearly a month had passed since I woke to the news that, out of all the kids who had been part of the Scorch Trials, I was the last one left. Everyone else was dead. Harriet, Sonya, Indira, Flossie and all the other members of Groups A and B, all of them killed by the Cranks who had broken into WICKED's headquarters. There was only me left now, a girl, roughly seventeen years old, who had lost everything. I had no memories of my life before I was sent to Group B's Glade and the friends I had made since then were gone. All of them, dead. For some reason, it never occurred to me to question the truth of what I'd been told, even though I knew pretty much the only thing WICKED could be trusted to do was lie to their subjects.

Most of the time, I didn't even have anything to distract me from my grief. For the last few weeks, I'd lived (if you can call it living) in a suite of plainly furnished rooms which contained no visual stimuli of any kind, no books, no television, not even any pictures on the walls. I did occasionally see some of WICKED's medical staff, but they never stayed for long and they never spoke to me except to tell me to perform various actions such as opening and closing my mouth or raising my hands above my head, none of which seemed to serve any purpose. Nonetheless, I complied; it wasn't like I had anything else to do anyway and, for all I knew, these exercises had something to do with checking how well I was reacting to the cure we had tried so hard to obtain. The cure for which over a hundred kids had been sacrificed.

I sometimes wondered if it had all been worth it. True, I'd been cured of the Flare - or so the WICKED doctors claimed - but it had been at a terrible cost, the lives of all the other kids who had been stolen from their families and used as human guinea pigs. Guilt that I was alive while everyone else was dead weighed heavily on my mind and, with nothing to distract me, it ate away at my sanity until I began to wonder if I should just end it all. The only reason I didn't was because I had no means of doing so. There were no weapons of any kind in my quarters and everyone who entered was unarmed, so obtaining a weapon and using it to kill myself was out of the question. There were no hooks or beams from which I could hang myself, nor any high windows for me to jump through. I considered trying to starve myself, but, every time my meals were brought to me, I felt compelled to eat. Clearly, WICKED were controlling me in some way, manipulating me into taking food, making sure I would survive. Trouble was, I didn't want to survive when everyone else had not.

And things continued like this until the day I received an unexpected visitor.

* * *

He looked almost exactly the same as he had when I last saw him: same white suit, same obvious comb-over, same rat-like features. Janson, the guy who'd told both groups about the Scorch Trials, the guy who didn't seem to care how many lives had to be sacrificed in the search for a means of curing the Flare. Without saying a word, he walked straight into my quarters and sat down on the couch, where he spent several seconds rifling through a thick folder filled with papers, most of which were creased. I stood in the doorway which led to my bedroom, wanting more than anything to tell him to get out, but finding myself temporarily speechless. All I could do was watch as he searched the folder until he found the page he was looking for.

"Hello, Jenny," he said, looking at me in a way which said he had known I was there the whole time he was going through his papers. "Have a seat," he added, nodding towards a nearby armchair. His tone of voice told me this was an order, not a friendly invitation, so, though he was the last person I wanted anywhere near me, I walked over to the chair he'd indicated and sat down.

"What do you want?" I demanded, putting as much venom as I could into those four words.

"For you to speak to your elders with a little more respect for starters. And for you to listen to everything I have to tell you." Janson cleared his throat. "Right, I have good news and I have bad news. The bad news is that you are infected with the Flare virus which, as you know, destroys the brain, robbing its victim of everything that makes them human until they become little more than an animal. That's the bad news. The good news is that you will never develop symptoms, for the simple reason that you are among the few people who are immune to the Flare. You have a rare mutation which means the virus cannot affect you, no matter how deeply rooted it is inside you. You are, to use the common term, a Munie."

I listened to what Janson was saying in silence. For all the lies I had been fed, something told me that, on this occasion, what I was hearing was the truth. I was immune to the Flare; even if I found myself in the midst of a bunch of Cranks who were well past the Gone, the virus which had robbed them of their humanity would never rob me of mine. Of course, they would almost certainly try to kill me unless I had some means of killing them, but there would be no danger of me becoming like them. But, if that was the case . . . "What about the cure I was given?" I asked, recalling how I had woken up with a tube in my arm. I'd been told it was being used to administer the cure, but, if I was immune to the Flare and therefore did not need to be cured, what had been injected into me?

"A harmless placebo. In order for this phase of the Trials to produce the results we needed, you had to be made to believe you were being cured of the Flare, but that all your fellow subjects were dead. We needed you to feel the grief and loss in order for us to collect the resulting killzone patterns and use them to . . ."

That was as far as he got before I interrupted him. "You mean Indira, Flossie and all the others . . . You mean they're still alive?" I did not know if I should believe what Janson was saying; for all I knew, he could be trying to manipulate me, trick me into thinking all was well in order to subject me to more sadistic experiments.

"Very much so," Janson replied. "And, like you, they have been subjected to different tests in order to stimulate responses in their killzones. The killzone, incidentally, is the term WICKED uses for the human brain, the place where the virus settles and does its damage. Or at least that's what happens in the case of those who are not immune. However, with those who _are_ immune, no damage will ever take place, even if they have been living with the virus for several years. WICKED was set up to study Immunes, map their killzones and use the resulting data to try and build a cure. Of course, every experiment needs a control group, so we also selected a few subjects who were not immune and used them for comparison purposes."

"Which subjects are you talking about?" I asked, feeling an overwhelming dread at the thought that my friends might have been part of the control group. If they were, I didn't know if I would be able to stand it, especially after I had been told only moments ago that they were not dead as I had been led to believe. It would be like being given a present, only to have it snatched away shortly after. Not that I expected anything else from WICKED.

Janson ignored my question. "We had hoped to have all the killzone patterns mapped out by the end of the Maze Trials. Or, failing that, by the end of the Scorch Trials. Unfortunately, when you and the other survivors were brought back from the Scorch, we were still short of what we needed. So we had to implement Phase Three, which meant creating different tests for each subject. And, because of those tests, our data is almost complete; it just needs fine tuning before we can get the cure out there to those who need it. That's where you and the other subjects come in. Speaking of which, it's time you were reunited with your friends."

* * *

I knew I could not believe my friends were alive until I saw them with my own eyes. So it was with some trepidation that I followed Janson along the hallway, fearing my journey was going to end at a room which contained the corpses of my fellow subjects. Nonetheless, I kept going, trying to convince myself that, for once, all was well, that I would soon see Indira and Flossie, along with everyone else, again. Knowing what WICKED were capable of, I imagined any number of horrific scenarios, but I quickly shook them off. I did not know if my friends were alive, but, after what Janson had told me, I couldn't be sure they were dead either. It was like a story I remembered about a cat that was shut in a box which contained a bottle of poison. If the bottle leaked, the poison would kill the cat, but, until the box was opened, there was no way of knowing if the cat was alive or dead. In effect, my fellow subjects were the cat and I was the person who had to find out whether or not it had survived.

Eventually, Janson and I reached a door. "There you are," Janson said, opening the door and waving me through. "You wait there while I go debrief the other subjects. I'll be speaking to all of you later." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me to check out the room which lay beyond the door.

The room turned out to be a small auditorium, which contained twelve rows of seats, plus a stage with a lectern on it. There were eight people in this auditorium, all of whom were my fellow subjects, the kids WICKED had stolen and used as lab rats in an attempt to find a cure for the Flare. I saw Indira and Flossie sitting together in the middle row, with Sonya nearby, though Harriet wasn't here yet. But Victoria, Sarah and Aris were here, along with two members of Group A. Siggy (or Frypan as his friends called him) was lounging on one of the chairs in the back row, while Bjorn, WICKED's youngest surviving subject, sat almost directly in front of him. Relief washed over me as I saw for myself that Janson had not been lying to me, that the others were indeed alive.

"Hey!" I called to Indira and Flossie as I made my way over and sat down next to them. "Long time no see. How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," Indira said. But she did at least smile at me in greeting.

Flossie, however, just looked at me in a way which told me smiling was the last thing she wanted to do right now. "Fuzzing awful," she told me. "For the past few days, I've felt really irritable for some reason."

"At least we're back together now," I said, hoping Flossie's irritability was the result of whatever she had been subjected to in Phase Three and not . . . something else. The tattoo on her neck called her _The Control_ , as in control subject, as in someone who was not immune to the Flare and was part of WICKED's experiments for the sole purpose of providing comparative data. Was Flossie, as her tattoo suggested, one of the control subjects? Or were the words _The Control_ just another Variable? I hoped it was the latter; the thought of seeing one of my two best friends descend into Flare-induced madness was more than I could bear.

The room gradually filled up as, one by one, the other surviving subjects entered. Minho was the first to arrive after me, followed by Emily, Yoko, Clint, Teresa, Martha, Newt, Harriet, Shelley . . . Last of all came Thomas, whose arrival was greeted with a shout of: "Well, I've been shucked and gone to heaven. It's Thomas!" from Minho. Then, Minho and Newt got to their feet and went over to greet Thomas properly. Much hand-shaking and back-slapping followed as they pulled their friend into the room, but there was something off about the way Newt spoke, something which made him sound as short-tempered as Flossie had said she felt. Again, I hoped this had nothing to do with the Flare and everything to do with whatever Newt had been through in the past few weeks.

Thomas pulled away from his friends and made his way over to Teresa. "Hey," he said. The expression on his face was neutral, but I had a feeling he still didn't entirely trust her, not that I blamed him after the way she had treated him back in the Scorch. Even if that had all been part of a plan as I'd heard Teresa say on the Berg, betrayal on such a level was not something that could be forgiven or forgotten easily. Indeed, at one point, Teresa reached out and took Thomas's hand, only for him to pull away almost immediately. This led to some sarcastic comments from Minho and Siggy/Frypan. But, since Siggy/Frypan sounds rather awkward, I'm going to refer to the latter only as Frypan from now on.

Before Thomas could say anything in reply, Janson entered the room and marched down the aisle, clapping his hands as he did so. "Everybody take a seat. We've got a few things to cover before we remove the Swipe." I wondered what he meant by that, but I didn't have to wait long to find out. As soon as Janson had taken his place at the lectern, he told us we were about to have our memories restored.

* * *

It quickly became clear that there were those among us who were less keen on getting their memories back than others. In the end, however, most of us ended up agreeing that the best course of action was to go ahead and let WICKED remove the device which had caused our amnesia. None of us knew anything about ourselves, where we came from, who our families were. We didn't even know our original names, just the names WICKED had chosen for us. Not that it mattered - I didn't think I would ever be able to think of myself as having any name other than Jenny - but I would like to know what my parents called me before I was taken from them. And the only way I could find out was to have the Swipe removed.

Janson led us towards a heavily bolted steel door, which he unlocked using a keycard, before ushering us into a small antechamber. As soon as all twenty-four of us had entered this chamber, he closed the first door and used the same keycard to unlock a second. The latter led into a room which contained six beds, each of which had a set of metal and plastic tubes shaped like a mask hanging menacingly over the place where the occupant's head would go. Janson explained that these contraptions were going to be used to remove the device which blocked our memories of our lives before we arrived in whichever Glade we had been sent to, along with the device which allowed WICKED to control us and, in the case of Thomas, Teresa and Aris, the device which enabled them to communicate telepathically. Everything except the device which WICKED used to map our killzone patterns would be gone. I guessed they still needed it to enable them to fine tune the cure - if they really were as close to a breakthrough as Janson had claimed and we had every reason to doubt the veracity of anything a member of WICKED told us.

After a while, Janson announced that everything was ready, but he had one last thing to tell us before the procedure began. "It'll be better to hear it from me than to . . . remember the testing." The pause before he said the last three words was enough to tell me this "testing", whatever it was, had not been pleasant.

It was Harriet who asked the question I suspect everyone was longing to ask. "What're you talking about?"

"Some of you are immune to the Flare," Janson replied, looking at us all gravely. "But . . ." He paused again. ". . . some of you aren't. I'm going to go through the list - please do your best to take it calmly." We fell silent, several of us exchanging glances, as he continued his explanation. "For an experiment to provide accurate results, one needs a control group. We did our best to keep the virus from you as long as we could. But it's airborne and highly contagious . . ." Another pause followed, punctuated by Newt and Sonya telling him to quit stalling and tell us who among us was not immune. Janson cleared his throat and explained that most of us were immune and had provided WICKED with invaluable data; he also mentioned something about "Candidates", though he said he was not going to elaborate on that yet. "Let's get to the list," he said instead. "The following people are _not_ immune." Then, without any hint of emotion, he began to announce the names of everyone who fell into that category. "Newt, Mona, Jackson, Yoko, Bjorn and Flossie."

* * *

Indira and I moved closer to Flossie, who had broken down in tears when her name was called. She wasn't the only one either; from where I was standing, I could see that Mona and Bjorn were in a similar state, though the latter was doing his best to hide it. Jackson and Yoko, on the other hand, seemed to be numb with shock and stood staring blankly into space. And I actually heard Newt telling Thomas that he didn't care about having the Flare, that he hadn't expected to make it even this far. Six kids doomed to degenerate into vicious monsters because they lacked something the rest of us had: immunity to a virus which destroyed the mind. I was torn between relief that Indira and I would be spared the ravages of the Flare and helpless anger that Flossie would not be so fortunate.

"Flossie . . ." I paused, wondering what I should say to her. I was tempted to tell her I was sorry, though that hardly began to cover what I was feeling right now. Nor would it change the fact that she was not immune, that the Flare virus was probably already taking over her brain, her killzone as WICKED called it. And, given what the Flare did to its victims, it was hard to think of a more appropriate term.

I tried again. "Flossie, we'll always be friends, no matter what happens . . ." I trailed off as it occurred to me that there would come a time when Flossie was no longer anyone's friend, when she was no longer human except in the biological sense. It could take weeks, months or years, but she would eventually become like the Cranks I had encountered since escaping from the Maze, descending deeper and deeper into madness. Eventually, the Flare would kill her, but by the time it did, she would have long since ceased to be the girl I knew. And the same fate awaited Mona and Yoko, not to mention Newt, Jackson and Bjorn. It would have been bad enough having to watch one of us, no matter who it was, succumb to the Flare, but to be faced with it six times . . .

I almost wished the story I'd been told about all my fellow subjects being dead was the truth.

* * *

Janson left the room at around this point, saying he was going to check the medical teams were ready; he returned several minutes later, accompanied by a number of people, all of them dressed in green one-pieces. Presumably, I thought, these were the medical teams Janson had mentioned, a theory which was confirmed when six of them took up positions next to the beds and started adjusting the equipment which would restore our memories.

Once everything was ready, Janson consulted the clipboard he had been carrying when he re-entered the room. "We've already assigned each of you a bed," he told us. "Those staying in this room are . . ." Again he began to recite a list of names. ". . . Aris, Emily, Indira, Jenny, Sonya and Trix." Then, as the six of us whose names had been called peeled away from the main group, he added: "If I didn't call your name, please follow me." And, without saying another word, he ushered the remaining eighteen teenagers out the door.

Minutes later, I was lying on the third bed along, with Trix and Emily on the beds either side of me. Aris occupied the bed on the far left, while Indira was on Emily's other side and Sonya had the bed on the far right. We had all been sedated and given drugs to dull the discomfort which would result from the procedure we were about to undergo, but we were still just barely conscious. I looked up at the mask hanging above me, the mask which would shortly be lowered over my face. From this angle, it seemed even more menacing than it had when I was looking at it side on and I wondered for a moment if agreeing to go through with this had been the right decision. But it was too late to change my mind now.

"All right," I heard one of the doctors, a woman, say. "I think we're about ready to begin."

The mask was lowered over my face, plunging me into darkness. Seconds later, small wires entered my ear canals and snaked towards my brain, where they began to restore the memories that had been taken from me more than two years earlier.


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

 _Flashback:_

My name was Vanessa. I was six years old and, for as long as I could remember, I had lived in a devastated world. I barely had any memories of what it had been like before the solar flares struck; the only world I knew was one where the weather swung from one extreme to another, where a horrible disease was turning people into monsters. Home for me was an apartment in Chicago, where I lived with my mom, my eight-year-old sister, Karla, and my twin brother, Robbie. We hadn't seen our dad since he left for work on the morning of the disaster, which happened just after we got back from school . . . Well, pre-school in the case of Robbie and myself since we were only three at the time; Karla had just entered the kindergarten class at the local elementary school. We'd barely made it inside when the flares slammed into the Earth and ignited everything in their path.

For several days afterwards, we had to stay indoors, waiting for the radiation levels to drop. As soon as they had and it was safe to venture out again, Mom started going out every day to look for Dad, but she never found him and she was eventually forced to accept that she never would, that he must have been incinerated by the flares.

"What's 'cinerated?" I asked when Mom had finished breaking the news to us.

"Not 'cinerated, incinerated!" Karla said in the "I know everything" tone typical of older sisters. "And it means he got burned until there was nothing left. Lots of people got burned when the flares struck. They're all dead now and so's Dad. That's what Mom means when she says she's never gonna find him."

Horrified, I looked at Mom, hoping she would tell me what Karla was saying wasn't true. But all she did was shake her head and gather the three of us in a group hug. "We mustn't think of how he died," she told us, her voice trembling. "We must do everything we can to stay alive because that's what he'd want us to do." And that's what we did, all four of us, along with everyone else who lived in our apartment building. We pooled our resources, cooked communally and, whenever the adults and older kids went to replenish our supplies, two of them would stay behind to look after the little ones, which included Karla, Robbie and me. And, if anyone came in from outside, we helped them as best we could, at least until the Flare reached Chicago, after which we became mistrustful of strangers. We were even suspicious of our own neighbours; there was no telling if or when one of them might become infected and spread the virus to the rest of us. And, in those early days, the only way to tell if someone was immune to the Flare was if they didn't get sick when they were exposed to it.

Later, however, a test was developed. I don't know who was behind this test, probably one of the organisations set up in the wake of the flares, but I do remember some people in funny suits coming to our apartment and taking blood samples from everyone. I especially remember being terrified of the needle and having to be restrained while my blood was taken. Afterwards, Mom tried to reassure me that it was all over now, that, once they knew if I was immune or not, I would never have to go through such an ordeal again. Little did she know what would happen to me, and to Karla and Robbie, as a result of those tests.

* * *

The knock on the door came late at night, waking up Karla, Robbie and myself. Since the first cases of the Flare had been reported in Chicago, we had learned to fear this sound and to stay out of sight if anyone came to the apartment unannounced. Several of our neighbours had been attacked by Cranks after answering the door only to find a band of Flare-infected maniacs waiting for them. As a result, Mom had recently taken to nailing a board over the front door every night, as well as drilling the three of us to hide whenever someone knocked on the door and stay hidden until she gave us the all clear. And that's what we did that night, climbed into the closet, pulled the door to and waited.

The knocking came again, more insistent this time. Then, someone shouted that, if the door wasn't opened quickly, it would be forced open. Crouching in the closet, we listened as Mom turned on the light, removed the board and opened the door; seconds later, we heard the sound of voices, Mom and two strangers whose speech was very different from the random nonsense which the Cranks often spoke as they lost the faculty for language. These people meant business and, as my siblings and I continued to stay out of sight, we found out what that business was. "We need your children," I heard someone, a woman, say. "All three of them."

"No! They're all I have left!" Mom's voice was tearful as she pleaded with whoever had come to our apartment. "You can't take them from me!"

"We can and we will." A man's voice this time. "They are immune to the Flare and that makes them valuable, especially since it's rare to find more than one Immune in the same family. They may be able to help us find a cure."

Mom said something in reply, but her voice was so choked that I couldn't make out what she was saying.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, not sounding at all apologetic. "But sometimes hard decisions have to be made at a time like this. I'm sure you're aware that the Flare virus is spreading across the world and, unless we do something to halt it, the human race faces extinction. All we're asking you to do is make a personal sacrifice for the greater good. We believe the key to curing the Flare lies in the brains of those who are immune to the virus, including your children. And we aim to gather as many Immunes as possible and use them to solve this problem. Now, you can either give up your children willingly or we will take them by force. Which is it to be?"

Mom made another tearful attempt to get these people to go away and leave us alone. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that they weren't going anywhere until they had what they had come for, namely Karla, Robbie and me. Trembling, we clung to each other, unable to do anything but listen as the strangers began to turn the apartment upside down in search of us. "Please stop!" Mom was right outside the closet now and, though I couldn't see her, I knew she was trying to protect us from the people who wanted to take us away. I did not know who they were, but I knew they were not nice people.

"We warned you," said the man. Seconds later, a gunshot rang out and something heavy fell against the closet door. Forgetting the danger, I screamed and buried my face in Karla's chest; this, needless to say, was enough to betray all three of us. Within moments, the closet was wide open and two people in smart business suits were staring down at us, their faces devoid of expression. The man was the first to speak. "Get out of there." He didn't shout it or anything like that; he just said it in a tone that was completely neutral, but which also carried the underlying warning that we had better do as he said - or else.

* * *

One by one, we emerged from the closet, holding our hands above our heads as instructed by the strangers. First Karla, then Robbie, then me, three kids at the mercy of the people who had come to our home and . . . As soon as I stepped out into the room, I saw what these people had done. Mom lay on the floor, unmoving, the front of her t-shirt stained red. I remembered the gunshot, followed by the sound of something heavy falling and, in that moment, I knew the woman who had protected Robbie and me for six years (and Karla for eight years) could protect us no longer.

"Mom!" I screamed. I made to run towards her, but, before I could move, the woman grabbed hold of me and pulled me back.

"Your mother is dead," she told me, using the same neutral tone her partner had used when he told us to get out of the closet. "We're going to look after you from now on and, in return, you're going to help us." Again, her tone lacked emotion, but she also made it clear that we were not being given a choice in the matter. Unless that choice was to end up like Mom.

"How are we going to help you?" asked Robbie, as the strangers led us, still in our nightclothes, out of the apartment and into the street. By the flickering light of the few streetlamps that were still working, I saw people lurking in the shadows. At least they looked like people, but I knew they were really Cranks; bursts of manic laughter gave that away, as did their speech patterns.

"Nice little kiddies. I could just eat them up!" A harmless expression of affection before the Flare started destroying people's minds. Now, however, those words were meant literally and we shrunk away from the woman who had uttered them, grateful that we couldn't see her clearly.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit!" A young man who had lost his grasp of language and could only repeat the same two words over and over.

"It's not fair!" another woman shouted, sounding for all the world like a child complaining about some perceived injustice that should be put right as quickly as possible, preferably in her favour.

Ignoring the Cranks, the woman who'd come to our apartment with her partner turned to look at us. "My name is Pauline Jacques. This is my associate, Roy Mason," she explained. "We represent a group of scientists who are trying to find a cure for the Flare. And, in order to do that, we need children like you, children who are immune to the virus. We are going to take you far away from here and, once you are at our headquarters, you will be tested to find out why the Flare doesn't affect you. We will then use that data and the data collected from our other subjects as the basis for further Trials."

"What are Trials?" I asked, sensing that they would not be pleasant whatever they were.

"You'll find out when you're older," Jacques replied. And, though Karla, Robbie and I continued to press her for answers, she refused to tell us anything else. So we tried asking Mason, only to find that he was even less willing to explain anything than his partner. All he would say was that we should stop asking questions and learn to do as we were told. He did not say what, if anything, would happen to us if we failed to obey him, but we stopped questioning these people all the same. It was obvious that we weren't going to get any answers from either of them.

* * *

Jacques and Mason took us to a spot just outside Chicago, where a huge craft was waiting. A Berg. I'd seen them before, but never close up like this. It was . . . My six-year-old vocabulary couldn't begin to describe how massive it was; even now, it's hard to put into words how it felt to see it looming over me, its hatch open like the jaws of some enormous monster. I gazed at it, completely awestruck, as did Karla and Robbie, but we were given no time to take it all in before Jacques and Mason escorted us through the hatch and onto the Berg. Moments later, we had taken off.

"What's going to happen to us?" Robbie asked as we sat on one of the couches contained in the Berg's mid-section.

"I don't know," Karla said. "These people won't tell us anything. What's up with that?" I was wondering the same thing myself. We'd seen around a dozen people since we came on board this craft, but none of them seemed to have any time for us. All they would say when we asked why we had been taken away from our home was that it was because we were immune to the Flare and they needed us to help them find a cure. But, since Jacques had already said as much, this didn't tell us anything new.

"Well, I don't think they're very nice," I said. "They killed Mom." Tears welled up in my eyes and I buried my face in Karla's shoulder. She hugged me like Mom used to, an eight-year-old girl who was all her younger siblings had left. I felt her stroking my hair, heard her assuring me that she would look out for us from now on. Whatever these people had in store for us, we were going to stick together. "Forever?" I asked through my tears. I'd already lost both my parents and I did not want to lose my siblings as well.

"Forever," Karla assured me. And, with that, she slipped her free arm around Robbie and drew him towards her. He made no attempt to pull away, even though he normally thought hugs were something only meant for girls. Perhaps he too needed the reassurance of knowing that Karla and I were still there. We sat with our arms around each other, three recently orphaned children being flown to an unknown destination, at the mercy of the people who had shot our mother in cold blood, then stolen us.

* * *

We must have fallen asleep shortly after this because the next thing I remember is Jacques coming to wake us up and tell us we had arrived at our destination. This, as we discovered once we had disembarked from the Berg, was a vast complex which, as I later learned, covered several acres. We were in some kind of hangar; I could see two other Bergs parked nearby, both as overwhelmingly massive as the one which had brought us to this place. Wherever this place was.

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice sounding small in the enormous cavern in which I stood with my siblings and the people who had brought us here. Robbie and I slipped our hands into Karla's, who squeezed them reassuringly.

"Your new home," Jacques replied as we were led out into a long hallway with several side corridors branching off from it. "Welcome to WICKED." This was the first time I'd heard the name of the organisation that was to play a major role in my life in the years to come. "Don't be alarmed by the name; it simply stands for World In Catastrophe, Killzone Experiment Department," she added in response to the frightened looks on the faces of my siblings and myself. "And, to go with your new home, you're all going to be given new names."

"Why?" This came from Karla. "What's wrong with the names we have now?"

"You must learn not to question your elders." Jacques cleared her throat and continued. "My colleagues and I have discussed the matter among ourselves and have decided that, from now on, you will be called Linda, your brother's name will be Neil and your sister will be known as Jenny." She looked at us in a way which said we had better accept this turn of events. "All the children who are brought here have to give up their birth names. There are no exceptions."

My siblings and I barely had time to digest this news before we were forcibly separated. That is to say, Robbie (now renamed Neil) was separated from Karla/Linda and me. A man, one of those who had been on the Berg, took him by the arm and began to drag him away. Robbie/Neil cried out and struggled to free himself, but there was no way a six-year-old boy could escape the grip of a grown man. My sister and I ran after the man and tried to get our brother away from him; needless to say, it was a futile gesture, one which only led to us being restrained by Jacques and Mason. There was nothing we could except watch as what remained of our family was torn apart.

"Where are you taking him?!" I shouted at the man who was dragging my twin away from me. He gave me no response and it was left to Jacques to explain.

"He is being taken to join Group A. You two will be part of Group B. We place our boy subjects in Group A and our girl subjects in Group B. There are a couple of exceptions, but you needn't let that concern you. Both groups live under the same conditions and follow the same rules. In time, you will learn what those rules are - and you will also learn that it doesn't pay to break them." She looked down at us, letting us know she wasn't joking but not saying anything about what would happen to us if we broke the rules. However, we did not have to wait long to find out.

* * *

Jacques led Karla/Linda and me to the part of the compound which served as Group B's quarters. Passing an open door, we stopped to look inside. I saw a girl sitting in a chair with sensors attached all over her upper body. She had copper-coloured hair and looked to be a little older than me, a little younger than Karla/Linda. Someone was in there with her, a dark-haired woman in a green one-piece; she was talking to the girl and, as I stood there, I heard what she was saying. "Now, let's be sensible about this. You've been here nearly a week, but you persist in using your original name, Caitlin, instead of the name we have chosen for you, Flossie."

"That's because Caitlin's the name my mom gave me," the girl in the chair shot back. "Besides, Flossie sounds like dental floss."

In response to this, the woman leaned closer to the girl and injected something into her neck, as the girl looked at her out of frightened blue eyes. "I've inserted a pain stimulator," the woman explained. "And, unless you do as you are told, I will have my colleague activate it. Now, I want you to tell me your name and, if you fail to answer correctly . . ." She left the last sentence unfinished and waited for the girl to speak.

"Caitlin."

"Incorrect." The woman then spoke to her unseen colleague. "Shock her," she said, her tone firm and decisive like someone issuing an order. "And keep doing it until she tells me her name is Flossie - and means it."

The next thing I knew, Caitlin/Flossie was screaming in agony, tears pouring down her face, as whatever had been injected into her sent spasms of pain shooting through her. She arched her back, her body convulsing; it was as though she was being tortured, which is effectively what was happening. A wet patch spread across the front of her trousers as she lost control of her bladder, but the woman in the green one-piece was too busy punishing her for giving the wrong name to notice. I was horrified. What kind of place was this? How could anyone inflict such pain on a child just because that child wanted to keep the name she'd had since she was a baby? I wanted to run away, as did Karla/Linda, but Jacques forced us to stay where we were. She said we would find what we were seeing "instructive".

It took two more doses of pain before the girl in the chair started saying: "Flossie" when asked what she was called and a further three before her torturer was satisfied that she had accepted her new name.

* * *

Hours later, I lay on my bunk in the dormitory which my sister and I now shared with several other girls. This included Flossie; one of the adults, a grey-haired man, had carried her in and placed her on one of the bunks, before turning to leave. As he was about to step outside the room, I hurried after him. "Will she be all right?" I asked, nodding towards the girl he had brought in.

The man looked down at me. "You're one of those kids they brought back from Chicago, aren't you? And don't worry," he added as I nodded in reply. "She's just been taught a lesson in co-operation. She'll get over it, though I doubt she'll be using her old name again in a hurry." Then, without saying another word, he walked away, leaving me to think about what I had seen today. A day in which my siblings and I had been orphaned, abducted and taken to a place where they forced kids to change their names.

I'd hoped I would be able to carry on calling myself Vanessa in my head while outwardly answering to Jenny, but, after seeing what had happened to Flossie, I knew that wasn't an option. If I was to avoid that kind of torture, I must forget I had ever been called Vanessa and accept that my name was now Jenny. And I must also accept that my siblings were now called Linda and Neil, not Karla and Robbie.

WICKED had stolen our identities.


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter Thirty-one**

 _Flashback_

"Hold your arm out, Jenny."

I did so obediently, trying not to look at the object in the doctor's hand, a small glass vial with a needle attached. It was time for yet another blood test and, after two months living under WICKED's regime, I'd learned that the adults around here meant business. If they wanted to jab needles into you and withdraw a sample of your blood, that was what they would do; there was no messing around. Even if you were afraid of needles as I was, you still had to go through this routine every week, whether you liked it or not.

The first time I was required to give a blood sample, I panicked at the sight of the needle, becoming so hysterical that a second doctor had to be called in to restrain me. It was similar to what happened when I was tested for immunity to the Flare, except Mom was no longer there to reassure me. Instead, I had one of the pain stimulator devices which had been used on Flossie to force her to give up her original name injected into me. "You need to learn what pain really is," said the guy in charge of administering my punishment. His name was Randall Spilker and he was as bad as his word. I won't go into details, but I will say I suffered nightmares for about a week afterwards.

Now, not wanting to suffer that kind of torture again, I let the doctors take my blood without a fight. Instead, I sat completely still as the needle was inserted into my vein and a sample of the red liquid within was drawn into the vial. Once the task was done, the doctor withdrew the needle, but the tests weren't over yet. I still had to have my weekly brain scan. WICKED needed to capture regular pictures of the activity in my brain or, as they called it, my killzone.

"Why do you call it that?" I asked one of the doctors once.

"Because the brain is where the Flare does its damage," she said shortly, adding somewhat grudgingly that I should count myself lucky I was immune. It meant I would never turn into a Crank, one of the monsters whose brains had been destroyed by the Flare, reducing them to the level of wild animals. The whole point of all these tests was to find out how the Immunes were able to live with the Flare virus without succumbing to its effects, to isolate whatever it was that made the difference in the hope of using it as the basis for a cure.

At six years old, I was living the life of a human guinea pig.

* * *

Linda and I shared our dormitory with twenty-eight other members of Group B, ranging in age from two-year-old Bianca to nine-year-old Val; everyone else fell somewhere in between. All of us were girls, as were the rest of the kids in our group, all but one. Aris. I'd never seen him, but I had heard about him. Apparently, he and a girl named Rachel were being kept separate from the rest of us because they were special in some way. I wondered what it was that made them special, but I had no-one to ask; the other kids didn't know the answer either and the adults certainly weren't going to tell me anything. All I knew was that Aris and Rachel stayed in private rooms and were not allowed any kind of contact with the rest of us, or even with each other.

One night, as I lay in my bunk, a thought occurred to me. "Linda?" I called to my sister, who was sleeping in the bunk above me. By now, we had grown used to calling each other by our new names. "You awake?"

I heard a groan from directly overhead. "I am now. What is it?"

"What do you think's happening to Neil?" I asked in reply. Neither Linda nor I had seen our brother since he was separated from us shortly after our arrival five months earlier. And, needless to say, none of the adults would tell us anything other than that all contact between members of Groups A and B was forbidden, even between siblings. In fact, we had pretty much been told to forget we ever had a brother. But, no matter what WICKED did to me, I couldn't - wouldn't - forget.

"He's with Group A, going through the same tests as us," Linda told me. "Now, go to sleep."

But I couldn't sleep, not until I'd said what I wanted to say. "Well, I'm going to go see him."

"Jenny, you mustn't! The security staff will catch you and you'll be punished."

I was well aware that Linda was right. But I also knew I wanted to see my brother, even if it was only for a few minutes; I didn't care what WICKED did to me if they caught me breaking bounds. Besides, if I was careful, I might be able to make it all the way to Group A's sector and back without getting caught. Unfortunately, I didn't know how tight the security was around here, how hard it would be to get anywhere near Group A, though I soon found out.

* * *

In addition to being subjected to endless medical tests, those of us who were five years old or older spent several hours each day in the classroom, with a break for lunch at 1300. Like all kids, we were taught to read and write and do sums, but our curriculum also included a lot of problem-solving exercises, not to mention lessons about who WICKED were and how they came to be. And, at around the same time I told Linda I wanted to go over to Group A and see Neil, we were learning the abbreviations for the various organisations which had been set up in the wake of the sun flares.

"P . . . F . . . C," said the teacher, Ms Gardener, as she wrote the three letters on the whiteboard with a black marker pen. "Who can tell me what these letters stand for?" She looked at the sea of young female faces staring back at her, then picked someone at random. She liked putting people on the spot like this, especially when, as we were doing now, we were revising what we had been taught over the past few days; she said it was important that we learned to think on our feet, to pull answers out of our minds at a moment's notice. "Miyoko? Do you know?"

Miyoko, a pretty Japanese girl who wore her black hair in pigtails, looked up when her name was called. As usual, she was sitting next to her best friends, Harriet and Sonya. Miyoko and Harriet - the latter was dark-skinned and had her hair cut short - were my age, Sonya, whose hair was strawberry blonde, a little younger. Anyway, Miyoko looked up in response to her name and attempted to answer Ms Gardener's question. "Post Flares . . . Collision?"

"Nearly," said Ms Gardener. "The letters stand for Post . . . Flares . . . Coalition," she added, filling in the remaining letters of each word as she said it. "The PFC was formed when the governments of all the nations that survived the sun flares joined together in an attempt to rebuild the world . . ." She spent the next few minutes talking about how the areas around the Equator had been completely devastated, how melting polar ice caps had caused widespread flooding, how the climate had been so badly disrupted that it could take several years to get back to normal - if it ever did. "Then came the day the Flare virus was unleashed. At first, it killed its victims quickly, but it soon changed into the horror which led to the formation of WICKED. As many of you have seen, those who catch the Flare eventually become little more than wild animals."

All around me, I heard girls whimpering as they recalled seeing family members succumb to the Flare. Thankfully, Linda and I had been spared this ordeal, though we had seen a number of Cranks before WICKED brought us (and Neil) to their headquarters. They were a horrifying sight to small children, even those growing up in a devastated world, all stink and insanity and hideous injuries, not to mention that they seemed to want to kill anything that moved. Ms Gardener paused to let her words sink in, then continued her explanation.

"But that doesn't happen to everyone. Shortly after the virus was unleashed, some people found a little girl who was immune to its effects and they made sure she was sent to us so that she could help us find a cure for the Flare. That little girl's name was Deedee and she became the first of our subjects." Subjects. That's what we were as far as WICKED were concerned, just a bunch of lab rats.

"What happened to her?" asked Indira. She was my age with light brown skin and long black hair, her eyes such a dark brown that they almost appeared black. Flossie sat next to her; the two of them were close friends and Linda and I had befriended both of them. Taking advantage of the fact that we slept in neighbouring bunks, we would whisper to each other after lights-out, though we never discussed our lives before we came to WICKED's headquarters.

"You remember how you were all given new names when you first arrived?" Ms Gardener asked in reply. The expressions on the faces of several girls, including Flossie, said they did and they also remembered being tortured into accepting the names WICKED had chosen for them. "We changed Deedee's name to Teresa, but you won't find her in this sector. She is part of Group A, just as Aris is part of Group B."

"How come?" It was another Japanese girl, Yoko, who asked this question.

"It's part of what we call the Variables," Ms Gardener replied. "But you needn't let that concern you. In any case, Teresa was the first Immune to be discovered, but she was not the last. Most of you are also immune and were brought here so that we could study you. We believe that, if we can determine how you are able to live with the virus without it affecting you, we may be able to find a cure. No." Her tone suddenly became hard and decisive. "It's not a question of "we may be able to find a cure". We _will_ find a cure, no matter how long it takes or how hard we have to push each of you. Unless we solve this problem, the human race faces extinction. We could, of course, leave those not immune to die from the Flare, but, because there are far more of them than there are people who _are_ immune, that isn't an option. So we brought you here for two reasons: to help us find a cure and to protect you from the dangers of the outside world."

* * *

That evening, as we made our way to the cafeteria for dinner, I heard someone yelling. "Let go of me! I only came to see my sister!" A boy's voice. I turned to see a fair-haired boy, who looked to be about Flossie's age, being marched down the hallway by a security guard who was keeping a very tight hold on his ear. "Lizzy!" the boy shouted. Since there was no-one in Group B named Lizzy, I wondered who he was talking about. But I then noticed that Sonya, who was nearby with Miyoko and Harriet, had turned at the sound of the boy's voice; what was more, she had reacted to the name Lizzy. Was that what she had originally been called? And, if it was, did it mean she was the boy's sister?

"I don't care who you came to see," the guard who had the boy by the ear growled. "You're not allowed in this sector. So I'm taking you back to Group A, where you'll learn what happens to kids who don't do as they're told."

For a moment, I considered asking the boy about Neil. After all, he was from Group A, so there was a chance that he had encountered my brother at some point and might be able to tell me how he was doing, if he had ever mentioned Linda and me. But, with the guard present, I dared not take the risk. All I could do was watch as he and the boy rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

However, I could ask Sonya if she knew the boy. So, rather than sit with Linda, Flossie and Indira as I usually did at mealtimes, I sat at a table with Harriet, Sonya and Miyoko. "That boy in the hallway," I said through a mouthful of pizza. "Who is he?"

"My big brother," said Sonya. "They changed his name to Newt, like they changed mine to Sonya." I wondered what Newt's birth name was, but chose not to ask. "He's a control subject," Sonya went on. "That means he's not immune." She then started telling me about how WICKED had come to her family's home to take her away because she _was_ immune, how her parents had been killed trying to protect her, leaving Newt and herself orphans. "Then one of the men said to grab us both," she explained. "So they did and they brought us here in a Berg. Then they split us up."

I looked at Sonya. Much of what she was telling me mirrored my own experiences. WICKED had come to take my siblings and myself away, they had killed our mother when she tried to stop them from taking us, we had come here in a Berg, they had split us up shortly after we arrived . . . The only major difference was that we were all immune. "That's like what happened to me," I said. "And Linda and Neil. Except . . ."

"Who's Neil?" asked Sonya. We knew each other's names even though we'd never spoken before, but the names of most of the kids in Group A were unknown to us. I myself only knew three at this point: Neil, Newt and Teresa. And, apart from the brief glimpse I'd had of Newt, I hadn't seen anyone from that group since Neil was separated from Linda and me.

"He's my brother," I told Sonya. "We're twins. I've been wanting to go see him, but Linda - she's our big sister - says I'll get caught . . ." I trailed off as I thought of how Newt had been caught sneaking into our sector, wondering what had happened to him once the guard got him back to Group A. He must have been punished, but what form had that punishment taken? A pain stimulator? Probably. I had no way of knowing. But I did know one thing.

If I was to avoid being punished for sneaking over to Group A, I would have to find a way of getting to that sector and back without getting caught.

* * *

Months passed. My seventh birthday had come and gone with nothing to mark it; there were no celebrations of any kind at WICKED, where every day was treated the same as every other. Get up, have breakfast in the cafeteria, go to school, back to the cafeteria for lunch, more lessons, two hours of recreation time, have dinner, go to bed. Once a week, we had to undergo the usual battery of tests, but that was the only break any of us had from the usual daily routine. In all this time, I hadn't managed to get anywhere near the Group A sector. I did try to slip off in that direction a couple of times, only to be firmly escorted back the way I had come and told I was "not allowed over there". I knew this, of course, but I also knew I had to see Neil, even if it was only from a distance. And, unless he was able to sneak over to Group B, the only way I could do so was to get into the area of the compound where Group A lived.

Sometimes, when I woke up at night, I would see a figure at one of the windows which overlooked the dormitory I slept in along with twenty-nine other girls. It was too far away for me to see clearly, not to mention that no-one had bothered to clean those windows in a long time, but that figure looked like a boy, though I couldn't be sure. However, if a kid from Group A could get this close to us without getting caught, there must be a way I could do the same with his group. If only I could figure it out . . .

Then we found the passage behind one of the closets.

* * *

It was Indira and Flossie who made the discovery while they were playing in the closets one night. There were several large closets in our dormitory, some of which were used to store our clothes, while the rest remained empty. The latter were an endless source of fascination for us; like all children, we imagined that they were far more than just closets. To us, they were the gateway to another world, a world where there had been no sun flares, a world free from Cranks, a world where WICKED didn't exist. Anyway, Indira and Flossie emerged from one of the closets, their faces flushed with excitement. "You'll never guess what we've found!" Indira told us, spreading her arms wide.

"What?" asked Val, who, at ten years old, was only mildly interested in the discoveries of a seven-year-old and an eight-year-old.

"That closet." Indira pointed to the closet in question. "The one Flossie and I just came out of. There's a tunnel behind it. It's true," she added as several of us looked at her in disbelief. "I leaned against the back wall and it suddenly moved and we found the tunnel. Come and see!" She grabbed hold of the nearest kid, a dark-skinned girl named Patra, and practically dragged her into the closet. Our curiosity piqued, the rest of us followed her. We took it in turns to peer into the passage which had until now been concealed behind a false wall. Soon, the entire dormitory was filled with the excited chatter of thirty girls, all of them speculating about where this passage might lead.

"Maybe it leads to the outside," suggested Connie, an eight-year-old with chocolate brown skin, who wore her hair in corn rows. "There must be some way out of here, right?"

"I hope not," said Val. Being the oldest in our dormitory, she often felt protective towards the rest of us, like she was our older sister. "The radiation's still quite high out there." Ms Gardener had talked about that very subject only a few days ago, telling us that, while the levels were dropping, it would be a few years yet before it was safe to venture out.

"How do you know?" asked Miyoko, who was with Harriet and Sonya as usual.

"Because Ms Gardener told us."

"But what if that's a lie?" Miyoko countered. "What if WICKED are only saying that to scare us?"

"And then there are the Cranks," Val pointed out. "They're . . ." She was cut off abruptly as the door was flung open and a dark-haired woman entered the room. It was her, the woman who had used the pain stimulator on Flossie to force her to accept her new name. Talking of names, I'd since learned that hers was Selma Gates and she was someone you messed with at your peril. Some of the adults around here weren't too bad, but there were several you had to watch out for. Randall Spilker was one and Selma Gates was another.

"No more talking!" she shouted, glaring round at us. "Get into bed - now! And, if I hear any more noise from this room, all of you will be punished!"

Knowing she meant exactly what she said, we climbed into our bunks, pulled the covers over ourselves and tried to go to sleep. I couldn't sleep though; my mind was filled with the possibilities the tunnel presented. The possibility of being able to get out of the dormitory undetected. The possibility that it might lead to Group A.


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-two**

 _Flashback_

Young though we were, we knew WICKED wouldn't like it if they knew we knew about the hidden passage. So we tried to act as though everything was perfectly normal, even though most of us were bursting with excitement at our discovery and the possibilities it presented. The passage was just begging to be explored, to have someone follow it to see where it led. But that would have to wait until bedtime; we still had our usual daily routine to get through, not to mention that, if we were seen heading for the dormitories in the middle of the day, we were sure to arouse suspicion. We'd all learned that the best way to avoid getting into trouble was to keep your head down and do as you were told.

All the same, the thought of being able to sneak around the compound, possibly even into the sector where Group A were housed, without getting caught excited me more than I could remember in the seven years I had been alive. It meant there was a possibility that Sonya and I might finally be able to see our respective brothers, perhaps even talk to them. Which is one the reasons we were the first to volunteer to go down the tunnel. Others volunteered too, including Linda, but we couldn't include everyone, so Indira and Flossie, who, as the discoverers of the passage, had taken charge of this somewhat impromptu expedition, had to decide who should go.

"Linda, Jenny, Sonya, Flossie and me," Indira said after giving the matter some thought. "Me and Flossie found the tunnel and Linda, Jenny and Sonya have brothers in Group A," she added by way of explanation. "So we're the ones who should go." She moved towards the closet behind which the passage was hidden and prepared to open the door, but she had barely put her hand on the handle when Harriet spoke up.

"If Sonya's going, I'm going too."

"And so am I," added Miyoko. "We're Sonya's best friends."

The expression on the faces of both girls said they were not going to budge on this issue. So, minutes later, the seven of us were making our way down the passage in single file, Indira taking the lead. The passage was narrow, the only source of illumination a strip light in the floor, though even that was broken in places, forcing us to feel our way in the dark. And there were places where the ceiling was so low that we had to crawl on all fours. Not to mention that the passage itself seemed to go on forever, or at least that's how it seemed to us, seven girls between six and nine years old. But the thought of going back never entered our minds; we were going to follow this tunnel until we found out where it led. Eventually, Indira called back to us.

"Come on! We're almost at the end!"

She shouted it in her excitement and we hurriedly shushed her, fearing the sound might carry to any WICKED personnel who happened to be patrolling the corridors. We were only too aware that we would be punished if we got caught, though, as yet, none of us had experienced anything worse than the pain stimulators. Even so, we had been living under WICKED's regime long enough to know what the organisation was capable of. If a guard had heard Indira's shout . . .

"Sorry." Indira lowered her voice to a whisper. "But look!" She pointed straight ahead to a square covered with wire mesh, a square that looked like it was wide enough for us to crawl through, provided we could move the mesh out of our way. Indira and Harriet knelt before the square and pushed along the bottom edge; the rest of us waited, holding our breath as the mesh covering the square lifted up, confirming that this was indeed the tunnel's exit. But what would we find on the other side? There was only one way to find out.

* * *

One by one, we emerged from the passage to find ourselves in a vast room that, once we had found a light switch, looked as though it was in the process of being set up as a laboratory of some sort. I saw countertops, desks with work stations and computer monitors on them and other things whose purpose I could not begin to guess at. There were several large glass containers; these were currently empty, but I had an uneasy feeling they would not stay that way. What were WICKED doing in here? Did it have something to do with the cure for the Flare that they were always going on about? If so, what?

"What is this place?" Miyoko wondered out loud. "And what's all that for?" She pointed to the nearest wall, which was hung with gleaming metal tools, most of which looked dangerously sharp. But none of us knew the answer any more than she did; all we knew was that we would not be touching anything in this room, especially not those tools. Knowing WICKED, we probably weren't even supposed to be in here, but we'd come too far in our explorations to turn back now, so we set our sights on the door at the far end of this enormous laboratory. After spending so much time at WICKED, we were all familiar with laboratories, but this one was much bigger than the ones we had seen before now. And then there were those glass containers. What were they for?

"Let's keep moving," Linda said after a while. And that's what we did, walking across the laboratory and exiting via the door to find ourselves in an unfamiliar corridor. Almost as soon as we did so, two guards walked past, no doubt on the look-out for any kids who weren't where they were supposed to be. Fortunately, none of us were spotted, but we knew it was only a matter of time before the guards came back; we had to get out of sight before then.

We quickly ducked into the various rooms lining the corridor. Linda and I, along with Sonya, ended up in a room lined with bunk beds, rather like our own dormitory. By the light coming in through the open door, we could see that these bunks were occupied by sleeping boys, most of whom looked to be about our age. Group A, I realised. Which meant Neil was probably in this dormitory somewhere. I began making my way through the room, peering at the occupants of the bottom bunks, trying to locate the brother I hadn't seen for over a year.

Presently, I found him lying in a bunk at the far end of the room, his eyes closed, his chest moving rhythmically up and down as he slept. My brother, Neil, who had been separated from Linda and me almost as soon as we arrived. I looked down at him, thinking of how I had been longing for this moment for the past year. If only he was awake so I could ask him how he was, whether he missed Linda and me, if he had made any friends among the other members of Group A and stuff like that. There was so much I wanted to know, but I contented myself with watching my sleeping brother and hoping I might one day have a chance to talk to him.

"Jenny?" I turned to see Sonya standing beside me. "Is that your brother?" she asked, pointing to Neil.

"Yes," I told her. She, Linda and I were the only members of Group B who had brothers in this sector. And the only other set of siblings (that I knew of) was a pair of sisters called Ada and Felicia. Perhaps some of these boys were brothers, but I had no way of knowing. As far as I was aware, most of the kids here had either lost any brothers and/or sisters they used to have or had never had any in the first place. And Linda, Neil and I fell into an even smaller category; we were a set of three siblings, all of whom were immune to the Flare. Statistically, the odds were very much against more than one member of the same family having the factors which caused immunity, not that I thought about such things as a seven-year-old looking down at my brother. I was about to ask Sonya if she wanted to try and find Newt, but before I could do so, Linda came and told us we had to go before we got caught.

"We're not supposed to be in here," she said. "Come on. Let's find the others and get back to Group B."

* * *

Reluctantly, I took one last look at Neil and left the dormitory with Linda and Sonya. There was no sign of any guards in the corridor, but nor was there any sign of Flossie, Harriet, Indira and Miyoko; they must still be in their hiding places, waiting until the coast was clear. "Hey!" I called in a loud whisper. "It's safe to come out! There's no guards!" A pause, then Indira and Flossie poked their heads round one of the doors, followed by Miyoko and Harriet doing the same a few doors down. We regrouped and started heading for the laboratory where the tunnel emerged, hoping to be back in the Group B sector before we were missed.

On that first occasion, we made it back without incident, emerging from the closet to be greeted by nearly two dozen excited girls, all of them asking questions about what we had found. We told them about the big laboratory and the glass containers whose purpose we didn't know. And we told them about how we had emerged from the laboratory to find ourselves in the Group A sector. "We found a dormitory," I explained, pointing to Linda and Sonya. "Like this, only with boys in it. My brother was there. I looked at him and so did Sonya. Then Linda came and said we had to go." Already, I was planning another trip through the tunnel to see Neil, hopefully awake this time. And then there was Newt and Sonya, two more siblings torn apart because WICKED insisted on keeping boys and girls separate. Maybe, if we went over to Group A again, we would be able to find both Newt and Neil.

I put this idea to the rest of our little band of explorers, all of whom readily agreed. Even though, unlike Linda, Sonya and myself, they didn't have brothers, they were all curious to explore the Group A sector, really explore it, see how it compared to our own sector. And the hidden passage offered us a means of sneaking from one sector to the other without being caught by the guards.

* * *

Over the next few nights, the seven of us took several trips through the tunnel. During that time, we spent each night exploring the Group A sector, our first port of call being Neil's dormitory; he was always asleep when I saw him, but it was better than not being able to see him at all. Then, we would go and have a look round the rest of the sector, taking in the laboratories, the offices, the classrooms. On one of these explorations, we found two doors next to each other, both of them bearing nameplates, one of which contained the name Thomas, while the other contained the name Teresa.

"Who are Thomas and Teresa?" Sonya wondered out loud.

I knew I'd heard the name Teresa somewhere before, but where? No-one in Group B had that name. Then, I remembered. "Wasn't Teresa the girl Ms Gardener told us about once? The one who came here first?"

"Yes, I think that was the name," said Indira, as Linda, Harriet, Flossie, Miyoko and Sonya nodded to back her up. "But I don't know who Thomas is," she added, looking at the nameplate on the other door.

"He must be like Rachel," Flossie said. "You know? The girl from our group they keep apart from the rest of us. She and Aris have their own rooms like these." We had all seen the doors marked with Rachel and Aris's names, but none of us had had so much as a glimpse of the kids who slept in the rooms beyond. And all the adults would say if anyone asked about Rachel and Aris was that they were "special" and that was why they weren't allowed to mix with the other members of Group B, no explanation as to why they were special. But it looked as though they weren't the only kids being isolated like this; Thomas and Teresa from Group A were being kept under the same conditions, presumably for the same reason.

I was curious to meet Thomas and Teresa, but, before I could mention this, Linda said it was time for us to head back. So far, our luck had held and we hadn't been caught out of bounds, but we all knew we would be in serious trouble if we were; WICKED had no patience with inquisitive children. So, rather than risk incurring their wrath, we kept our explorations of Group A brief and made sure to be back in the Group B sector before any of the adults realised we were gone. Of course, it was too much to hope that we would be able to carry on like this without getting caught indefinitely. And, on the same night we found the doors to Thomas and Teresa's rooms, our luck ran out.

* * *

We had just reached the corridor which led to the laboratory and thought we were home free. But, when we reached the laboratory itself, we found the door blocked by two adults dressed in the green jumpsuits favoured by WICKED personnel, both of them armed. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach as I recognised their faces. Randall Spilker and Selma Gates. Sadists, both of them. They took delight in punishing kids for the slightest infraction - and they had just caught us in the act of committing a pretty major crime, namely being in an area of the compound that was out of bounds to all members of Group B.

"Run for it!" shouted Flossie. And we all tried to run in different directions. Harriet and Miyoko headed back the way we had come, while Linda and I went straight on and Indira, Flossie and Sonya veered to the right. We didn't really have a plan in mind other than putting as much distance as possible between us and Spilker and Gates, then trying to get into the laboratory once they had gone. There was no way they could stand by that door forever. But there was one thing we didn't count on, namely the possibility that Spilker and Gates might have reinforcements waiting further down the corridor. And it wasn't long before Linda and I ran right into a group of green-suited guards, who circled around us before we could even think about trying to escape.

"Get your hands up!" one of them, a man, barked. "Come on! And don't try anything or you'll be in even more trouble than you're in already!"

Trembling, Linda and I raised our hands. For a moment, I was reminded of the night Jacques and Mason came to the apartment into Chicago, the night Mom was killed, the night my siblings and I were introduced to WICKED. But I had no time to think about it before the man who'd spoken before told us to start walking. Linda and I had no choice but to obey; the guards had us outnumbered. I should also remind you that we were only seven and nine years old, too small to fight back against these people. All we could do was try to avoid thinking about what punishment might lie in store for us and hope that the others had been able to escape.

* * *

All too soon, we found ourselves back at the laboratory. Spilker and Gates were still there, but they had been joined by three other WICKED personnel, each of whom was keeping a tight hold on one of our friends. A dark-skinned woman with closely cropped hair was holding Flossie by the shoulders, a young man was restraining Indira and Sonya was in the grip of another woman, a woman I recognised, Pauline Jacques. I hadn't seen her since the day I was brought to WICKED's headquarters, but I hadn't forgotten her face, nor her callous indifference.

"I think that's all of them," the man who seemed to be in charge of the group who'd captured Linda and me said, addressing Spilker and Gates.

"Not quite," Spilker replied. "There were seven subjects missing from Group B, five of whom have been captured. The remaining two must be found; we can't have our subjects thinking they can break bounds and get away with it. As you will soon learn," he said to Linda, Flossie, Indira, Sonya and me. "I suppose you thought you were clever, using that tunnel to sneak into this sector. If so, you were sadly mistaken. We've been watching you these last few nights and we've decided it's time you learned that breaking the rules has consequences."

"What are you gonna do to us?" Sonya asked. The way she said it was completely matter-of-fact, no tears, no tremor in her voice. It was hard to believe she was the youngest member of our little group. Then, when she didn't receive a reply right away, she added: "Will you use the pain stimulators?" Again, no outward sign of fear. Perhaps that's why she eventually emerged as one of Group B's leaders, but, for now, she was one of five kids who had been caught in the act of doing something wrong and were about to face their punishment.

Spilker shook his head. "Not this time. We've decided you need to see for yourselves why you've been brought here and why it's important that you don't stray out of bounds. Beneath this complex," he went on, "lie the Crank pits. It's where we keep any Cranks who wander onto our land. We use them to provide us with data on how the Flare affects the brain - and they're about to have the pleasure of your company." He gestured towards three of the guards. "Find the other two. The rest of you, escort these five to the pits."

Before anyone could move, the woman holding Flossie spoke up. "This one's a control subject. We can't risk her getting too close to the Cranks." Not that she seemed to care. I'd learned that WICKED weren't particularly concerned about the well-being of we subjects, just the data we were going to provide, data that would supposedly lead to a cure for the Flare.

"In that case," Spilker said, "she can watch on the monitors. She may find it just as instructive as actually being there."

The woman saluted. "Understood. I'll take her to the observation room right away." And, with that, she marched away, dragging Flossie along with her, leaving Linda, Indira, Sonya and myself to face the horrors of the Crank pits.


	34. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-three**

 _Flashback_

"How did you know we've been using that tunnel?" Linda asked Spilker and Gates as the guards prepared to lead us to the Crank pits. The thought of what we were about to be faced with terrified us; we'd all seen the horrors the Flare unleashed, though this was the first time we would be faced with it since arriving at WICKED. And, as Linda said, there was the question of how our use of the tunnel had been discovered. Had one of the other girls in our dormitory let something slip? If so, who? My friends and I had always been careful to cover our tracks, make sure we left no incriminating evidence at the end of each night's foray into Group A. But maybe we hadn't been careful enough.

"Never you mind how we knew," Gates retorted. "All that matters is that you broke the rules and need to be taught a lesson." She turned to the guards who had captured us. "Right, take them away. And we'd better make sure none of the other Group B subjects can get into that passage, especially given what we've got planned for the laboratory where it emerges."

Before any of us could ask about whatever it was WICKED had planned for the laboratory, not that we would have received a particularly informative answer, the guards took us by our arms and began to escort us in the direction of the Crank pits. We tried to resist at first, terrified at the thought of being forced near those whose humanity had been destroyed by the Flare. We had good reason to be afraid; Cranks, particularly those in whom the Flare had reached an advanced stage, were like all the nightmares of childhood combined. And, unlike the horrors found in storybooks, they were all too real, all too capable of killing us. As Immunes, we had nothing to fear from the Flare virus itself, but our immunity wouldn't protect us if the Cranks decided we might taste good.

Needless to say, our resistance proved futile, for the simple reason that we were kids and the guards were adults. And so we were led deep into the bowels of the complex that was both home and prison to us. Presently, we found ourselves in a darkened tunnel, seemingly endless blackness which added to the terror we were already experiencing. And then I heard it, a burst of manic laughter that could only have come from one of the Cranks. I shuddered, imagining the horrors that awaited me at the end of this journey. Thanks to the pitch dark of the tunnel, I couldn't even see my own sister, though I knew she was there, as were Indira and Sonya. Harriet and Miyoko were still trying to evade the guards who had been sent after them - at least I hoped they were - and Flossie had been taken somewhere to watch our punishment on a screen since her lack of immunity meant it was too dangerous to send her to the Crank pits.

The Crank pits. We were halted in front of a chained and padlocked gate and, after one of the guards had shone a flashlight in our faces, presumably to check that we were all present, another walked over to the gate and removed the padlock and chain. I heard the clank of metal falling to the floor, the sound echoing in the tunnel. The guard who had unlocked the gate pushed it open, then turned to us.

"Get through there," he said, pointing in the direction of the gate. "And let this be a lesson next time you're tempted to break bounds."

My friends and I exchanged glances in the light of the guard's flashlight. None of us wanted to set foot in the hellhole which awaited us, but we knew there was no way we could avoid doing so. If we refused to go through the gate willingly, there was no telling what WICKED might do. But an organisation who thought sending kids into a place filled with crazed maniacs was an appropriate punishment was probably capable of pretty much anything. Presently, Indira took a deep breath and walked through the gate, followed by Sonya, then Linda. Deciding I would rather be with my sister and my friends than alone with the guards, I followed.

* * *

As soon as we were all inside the Crank pits, the gate was padlocked again and the guard with the flashlight took up position, shining the beam in our direction. Not that it did much good; the blackness seemed to swallow it up. The guards were talking and, as we stood there, we heard a little of their conversation.

"How long should we give them?"

"As long as it takes for the lesson to sink in. A couple of hours should do it."

"And the other two?"

"Same for them - if they're caught."

"What do you mean "if they're caught"? Do you think two seven-year-old girls can hide from our guys forever?"

That was as much as we heard before other sounds caught our attention, sounds which seemed to be coming from the other side of the fence that lined both sides of the path on which we stood. And then we saw them coming towards us. Cranks. Dozens of them. An insane mass of beings who used to be human until the Flare virus started destroying their minds. Now they were like something out of a nightmare, driven by madness, eager to tear us limb from limb. Fortunately, we had the fence to protect us from these horrors, not that it stopped them from trying to get to us; several of them reached through the bars with their grasping hands, many of which were missing at least one finger. And all the while they screamed and shouted, though most of them had reached the stage where they were no longer capable of any form of meaningful conversation.

Then, amid the nightmarish clamour of the Cranks, I heard one of them utter five words. "Have you seen my babies?" The speaker was a young woman, her eyes bearing the same empty look as the rest of the Cranks, though she was cleaner than some of the others, many of whom looked (and smelled) like they hadn't washed for some time. "My babies," she went on. "They've been stolen from me! I want them back!" And, with that, she flung herself at the fence and started attacking it. "Where are my babies?!" she screamed, tears pouring down her face. "Give me back my babies!"

She continued like this for several minutes, ranting and raving about "her babies", demanding to know where they were, pleading for them to be given back to her. Not that this meant anything; chances were she was just another Crank who had strayed onto WICKED's property and ended up in the pits with others infected with the Flare virus. She probably didn't even have any babies, but, in her insanity, she believed she did and she wanted them back. And she was completely fixated on these almost certainly non-existent babies to the point where her Flare-addled mind could focus on nothing else.

* * *

For the rest of our time in the Crank pits, we kept as far away from the seething mass of ruined humanity as we could, watching them with a mix of fascination and horror. I could only pick out a few individuals, one of them being the woman who kept screaming for "her babies". Apart from her, the following stood out. A middle-aged man who was stark naked, having apparently abandoned his clothes in a fit of insanity. A dark-skinned woman who wept and giggled alternately; it must have been her I heard laughing while I was being led towards this hellhole. A teenaged boy with brown hair who kept repeating the words "I want my mom" over and over. I knew this didn't mean anything - he probably didn't realise what he was saying - but hearing those words made me think of my own mother and how she had been murdered by WICKED. Even after more than a year, I still missed her. More than anything, I wanted her to come and get me, and Linda and Neil, away from here, but I knew I would never see her again.

At some point - I can't say when because we had no means of keeping track of time - the gate was opened and Harriet and Miyoko were roughly shoved in with the rest of us. Then, before we could even think about trying to escape, the gate was slammed shut and its chain and padlock replaced. The guards took up their positions once more, not that we had any way of getting out of here until they released us; the gate was impossible to climb and, even if we could get over it, doing so would only land us in even more trouble than we were in already. It was hard to imagine a punishment worse than the Crank pits, but WICKED were probably more than capable of devising one if they had to. So we just had to sit tight and wait until our two hours were up.

Two hours feels like a very long time to children, especially if they have no way of knowing how much time has passed since they were thrown into a nightmarish prison. I was beginning to think the gate would never be opened, that we would be left here for the rest of our lives. And, given how young we were, that could be a long time yet. Unless the Cranks could somehow breach the fence and get to us, in which case we wouldn't have to worry about how long we would be stuck down here; even unarmed, they had the advantage in terms of numbers and six pre-pubescent girls probably looked like a tasty snack to some of them. I tried not to think about this, but it wasn't easy when those who might be planning to add me to the menu were only a few feet away.

Eventually, however, the gate was opened and one of the guards turned to us. "Your time's up," was all he said. We immediately rushed towards the gate, not wanting to stay in this hellhole a moment longer, but, before we could set foot out of the Crank pits, the guard stopped us. "Not Harriet and Miyoko; they haven't served their full two hours. The rest of you will come with me."

* * *

Leaving Harriet and Miyoko in the Crank pits, Linda, Indira, Sonya and I followed the guard as he led us back to the Group B sector. None of us spoke the whole way, the memories of what we had seen weighing heavy on our minds. The Cranks, once human beings like us, now reduced to the level of wild beasts. I felt a mixture of pity and revulsion as I thought of what I had seen, pity for those who had fall victim to the Flare virus, revulsion at the thought of what it had turned them into. Never before had I seen so many Cranks in one place and I hoped I would never have to do so again.

The guard escorted us as far as our dormitory, at which point he turned to us. "Well," he said, "I hope you've learned something from your little adventure, namely that rules are not to be broken. And, if you ever need reminding of that, we can easily arrange another trip to the Crank pits. Is that understood?"

Needless to say, none of us wanted to go back to the Crank pits, so we quickly mumbled: "Yes, sir." The guard nodded grimly, apparently satisfied that we had learned our lesson, then turned and walked away, heading back to the Crank pits where Harriet and Miyoko were still imprisoned, locked in with several dozen Flare-infected maniacs. As soon as he was out of sight, we went straight to our bunks, waving aside the usual clamour of questions from the others. We didn't have the vocabulary to describe what we had seen in the Crank pits and, even if we could have put it into words, we didn't want to talk about it.

My sleep that night was restless, my dreams filled with images of the Cranks as they pressed against the fence, reaching for me with their grasping hands. At one point, the naked man succeeded, seizing me by the back of my shirt and pulling me towards himself. "Mmm! You're a tasty morsel!" he said, an insane grin on his face. "Come join us on _this_ side of the fence!" I screamed and struggled to break free, but he was much bigger and stronger than me; I couldn't possibly hope to escape . . .

The next thing I remember is opening my eyes to find Linda looking down at me. "Are you OK?" she asked, sitting down on my bunk. "You were screaming in your sleep."

That must have been what woke me up. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, trying to dismiss the nightmare I'd just had from my mind. But it wasn't easy when it had been triggered by something I had seen in reality only hours before. "I - I had a bad dream," I said, my voice choking. "I was back in the Crank pits. One of them grabbed me! I . . ." That was all I could get out before I broke down sobbing. I felt Linda's arms around me, heard her whispering to me that I was safe, that no Cranks could get me here. I even heard her say she would look out for me, just as she had on the Berg which had brought us (and Neil) to this place. Before WICKED stole our original names (Karla, Robbie and Vanessa) and named us Linda, Neil and Jenny.

I looked up at Linda, my face stained with tears. "Will we always be together?"

"Of course we will. I'm your big sister, so it's my job to protect you."

* * *

"When are we going over to Group A again?"

Three months had passed since the night of the Crank pits, during which our little group of explorers had steered clear of the tunnel. We hadn't even gone into the closet where it emerged into our dormitory, much less made the journey through the hidden passage that led to Group A. But now, with the memory of the punishment we had received for being out of bounds beginning to fade, I was starting to think it might be time to try the tunnel again. Apart from anything else, I wanted to see Neil and I had a feeling Sonya wanted to see Newt. And the only way either of us could see our respective brothers was to sneak into the sector where most of WICKED's male subjects lived.

"We're not," Linda said shortly. "You know what happened last time."

I did, all too well. But, maybe if we were careful not to get caught this time, we would be all right. Besides, I only wanted to see Neil. We could go straight to his dormitory where I could spend a few minutes looking at him as he slept, then head back to Group B; there would be no exploring. But this wasn't enough to persuade Linda. "I know how you feel," she told me. "Neil's my brother too. But WICKED must be watching us, waiting for us to break the rules again. And I'm not going back to those Crank pits." Her tone was so decisive that I gave up trying and turned to the rest of our little group, hoping at least one of them wanted to give the tunnel another try.

Harriet and Miyoko shook their heads, as did Flossie, the only one out of the seven of us who was not immune to the Flare. Fortunately, though this wasn't known until much later, Immunes, in addition to being unaffected by the Flare virus themselves, could not pass it on to those who lacked the factors which caused immunity, so there had been no danger of her catching it from those of us who had been in the Crank pits. Anyway, four members of our little gang were out as far as sneaking over to Group A was concerned, which only left two more.

"What about you?" I asked Indira and Sonya.

They said they were up for it and the three of us agreed we would go through the tunnel that night. So, telling ourselves that we were going to be careful from now on, we spent the rest of the day looking forward to the time when we would set foot in the tunnel once more. Thoughts of the Crank pits and the horrors within occasionally crossed my mind, but, terrifying though that experience had been, my desire to see my brother was stronger. To my young mind, it felt like a lifetime since I'd last stood by his bunk, looking down at his sleeping form. Not to mention that I hadn't even spoken to him since we were brought to WICKED's headquarters. And Sonya, the only member of Group B apart from Linda and myself with a brother over in Group A, was in the same position.

* * *

That night, as we had done many times before, Indira, Sonya and I entered the closet where the tunnel emerged into our dormitory. I pressed against the false wall and waited for it to open up, revealing the passage concealed within, but nothing happened. I pressed harder. Still nothing; the wall remained as solid as it appeared at first glance. Even when Indira and Sonya tried to help me, it made no difference. "Why won't it open?" Indira asked, grunting as she pushed against the wall in a vain attempt to make it give way. "It always did before."

After giving the wall a few more tries, we were forced to admit defeat and climbed out of the closet, shaking our heads to let the others know we'd had no luck. "The wall's been locked," I said by way of explanation. "We can't get it open." I gave the closet a rueful look, then headed back to my bunk, as Indira and Sonya did likewise. That was it, then. No more night-time trips through the tunnel. And no more sneaking over to Group A unless we could find another route. Which meant I would probably never see Neil again, not even standing beside him while he slept. WICKED had robbed me of even the limited contact I'd had with my brother since we arrived at their headquarters.

In fact, though we didn't know about this at the time, the hidden entrance had only been locked from our side. It was still possible to open it from inside the tunnel, not that this made any difference to us. And there was little doubt in my mind who had ordered the false wall locked; Gates had said something about making sure no-one else from Group B could get into the tunnel.

Since there was nothing else I could do, I decided to get some sleep and hope things would seem better in the morning. Not there was much chance of that in my situation. At seven-and-a-half years old, I'd seen what WICKED were capable of and I had a feeling things were going to get even tougher in the years to come.


	35. Chapter 34

**Chapter Thirty-four**

 _Flashback_

Three years had passed since I was introduced to WICKED for the first time. I was now nine years old, Linda was eleven and, for the past few years, our lives (aside from our nightly excursions through the tunnel which led to Group A, now a thing of the past) had been a constant round of lessons and medical tests. Every week, WICKED would take blood samples from us. Every week, our brains were scanned to check their activity and see how they were functioning. And every week, we had to push ourselves to the limits of our physical endurance on various pieces of exercise equipment.

"OK, Jenny, let's get you on the treadmill."

The speaker was one of the many doctors employed by WICKED, most of whom I knew only by sight. This one was a man in his mid thirties who had the same South Asian appearance as Indira: dark hair, light brown skin, eyes that almost appeared black. He was standing by a computer which was, via sensors attached to my chest, monitoring my resting heart rate. Eighty beats per minute according to the readout on the nearby screen, about average for someone my age. But this guy wasn't interested in "about average"; like other WICKED doctors I'd encountered before, he wanted to push me to my physical limits, get my heart rate up as high as possible. I didn't know it at the time, but they must have been preparing me for the Trials to come, Trials which would test me both physically and mentally. All in the name of finding a cure for the Flare, of course.

I climbed onto the treadmill. The doctor flipped a switch and the surface beneath my feet started moving, slowly at first but gradually building up speed until I was literally running on the spot. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, hear my breath coming in short gasps. My legs ached, but I dared not stop while the treadmill was still running; if I did, I would suffer a rather undignified (and painful) fall, as had happened to a girl named Gracie. She'd slipped when she stopped to take a breather while on the treadmill a few weeks back and ended up banging her face; the bruises were still visible. So, mindful of this, I kept my legs in motion, wondering how long I would have to keep it up this time. The length of time I spent on the treadmill varied from one session to the next, but I knew I would not be allowed to get off until WICKED had obtained the results they needed.

Presently, after I had been running without going anywhere for what felt like forever, the treadmill was slowed to a halt. The doctor waited until I'd had time to catch my breath before announcing the results. "Very good. You got your heart rate up to one-twenty." But his tone suggested that he felt there was room for improvement - as if I wasn't being pushed hard enough at these sessions already. And what was it all for anyway? What could forcing me to spend so much time running on a treadmill have to do with finding a cure? Without thinking about it, I blurted this question out.

"Because we require all our subjects to be at the peak of fitness," was all he said. But, when I asked him to elaborate, his only response was to tell me I was "dismissed". I left, wondering, as I had often done over the past three years, what form WICKED's seemingly endless battery of tests would take next.

* * *

A few weeks later, my fellow subjects and I were just about to leave the cafeteria after the evening meal when a bald-headed man walked in. I'd seen him about the facility - he was one of what WICKED called the Psychs - but I didn't know his name. Nor did I remember if he'd ever carried out any tests on me, but I'd encountered so many of WICKED's doctors over the past three years that it wouldn't surprise me if he had. His presence, however, did surprise me; it was unusual to see any adults who weren't part of the kitchen staff in here. What could he want?

Glancing at Linda, Flossie and Indira, I saw the same expression on all their faces, an expression I'm sure was mirrored on my own. They too were wondering what this guy was doing here. And we weren't the only ones. All over the cafeteria, girls were whispering to each other, speculating about the reason behind the presence of one of the Psychs in our dining facility. I caught a little of the conversation at the next table over.

"Isn't that Dr Leavitt?" Yoko wondered out loud.

"Yeah, the guy with the same surname as my namesake." The speaker was a girl named Henrietta, who had been at WICKED for just over a year; she had brown hair and was a little older than me. "Henrietta Leavitt, the astronomer," she added. "One of the other doctors told me once." Not that being named, or rather renamed, after someone who shared their surname with a member of staff made any difference to how she was treated. She was still subjected to the same tests as the rest of us, still had to share communal facilities.

"Never mind that," said Val. "What's he doing here?"

She received her answer almost at once. "Quiet, everyone, please," Dr Leavitt said. He didn't shout it or anything like that, but there was something about his tone that made everyone in the cafeteria stop talking and look his way. "Thank you. Some of you already know me, but, for the benefit of those who don't, I am Dr Leavitt, one of the Psychs in this facility. And I'm here to talk to you about the next stage in the experiment of which all of you are a vital part." He cleared his throat. "As you know, we require regular blood samples and killzone scans from all Immunes so that we can study how they can live with the Flare virus without suffering any ill effects. Those of you in the control group are subjected to the same tests for comparison purposes. However, over the past few years, we have been working on a device which will make most of those tests unnecessary, a device designed to be implanted directly into the brain."

A device designed to be implanted directly into the brain. I didn't like the sound of that and nor, judging by the expressions I could see on the faces of those closest to me, expressions which were almost certainly mirrored elsewhere in the cafeteria, did the others. Already, several of them were muttering unhappily, though I couldn't make out what they were saying. But it wasn't hard to guess. I gulped at the thought of someone cutting my head open and putting something inside; it was bound to hurt - a lot. As if the tests WICKED subjected us to already weren't bad enough, they now planned to do something even worse, something that could potentially kill us.

"I know it sounds horrible," said Dr Leavitt, who must have seen that most of us weren't too thrilled by what we had just been told. "But I promise it won't hurt a bit. You might have a headache for a few days, but we can treat that with painkillers. We'll put you to sleep before the operation itself, so you won't be aware of what's happening. And it will mean we'll be able to monitor your vitals without you having to spend so much time in the laboratories, so I think you'll thank us in the long run. That's not so bad, is it?"

I was not altogether reassured by this statement.

* * *

As often happens when you are dreading something, the following morning, the morning when WICKED would cut our heads open and insert the devices Dr Leavitt had told us about, came all too quickly. We ate our breakfast in silence, trying not to think about what was to come, but none of us dawdled over the meal; doing so would only delay the inevitable. If WICKED wanted to put things in our heads, they would put things in our heads no matter how much we tried to stall them.

Presently, they started calling our names in groups of four, starting with Miyoko, Patra, Sonya and Val; the owners of those names got up and left the cafeteria without looking back or even saying anything, their eyes all bearing the same look of resignation. The cafeteria gradually emptied until only a handful of girls remained, including Linda and myself, Flossie, Harriet and Indira having already been called. We sat in silence, trying to avoid looking at the door through which our friends had walked, knowing the time would soon come when we must follow them. Then came the moment we had been dreading since last night.

"Emily, Jenny, Linda and Tegan."

Linda and I exchanged a look which said: "Let's get this over with", then got up from our seats. Before we left the cafeteria, I looked around for the other two girls whose names had been called. Emily and Tegan. Yes, there they were. Tegan with her short dark hair and hazel eyes. Emily, fair-haired and green-eyed. They were inseparable, but that was all I really knew about them at this point. Other than that, I didn't even know how old they were, though they seemed to be a couple of years younger than me, making them seven years old or thereabouts. Seven years old. That meant they would have barely been toddling when the solar flares struck and would have no memories of the world as it had been before.

* * *

We left the cafeteria in silence, finding four unsmiling doctors waiting for us. They led us towards a lift and escorted us inside, where one of them pressed the button marked with a 9. The ninth floor. I had never visited it before and I had often wondered what it contained, but the only response I got when I asked one of the adults amounted to the fact that it "didn't concern me". Now, however, it looked as though it was going to concern me a great deal and it would also concern Linda, Emily, Tegan and all the other kids in this place. This must be where they were going to put the implants in our heads. For all Dr Leavitt had tried to reassure us, I was still scared and so, judging by the expression on their faces, were the other three girls in the lift with me.

"How long have you been here?" I asked Emily and Tegan, hoping to distract them, and myself, from thoughts of the surgery to come.

"Since I was four," Emily replied. "My old name was Jessica, but they . . ." She broke off suddenly as her eyes welled up with tears and I needed no-one to tell me why. Someone must have used a pain stimulator on her to force her to stop calling herself Jessica and start calling herself Emily, just as Gates had used one on Flossie when she refused to give up her birth name, Caitlin. The ordeal had obviously left a lasting impression on Emily if merely mentioning her former name upset her so much.

Not knowing what to say, I turned to Tegan. "What about you?"

Before Tegan had time to reply, the lift came to a halt, the doors sliding open with a chiming sound. The doctors escorted us off the lift, past a front desk, through some glass partitions and along a seemingly endless hallway that was lined on either side by numbered doors, all of which were closed. Curtains had been drawn over the frosted glass walls, making it impossible to see what was happening inside the rooms. But this did nothing to shut out the sound of a child sobbing hysterically; it was coming from one of the rooms, though I couldn't tell who it was. I started towards the sound, only to find myself being held back by the doctor nearest to me, a woman with light brown hair.

"Just ignore that," she told me.

I tried, but it wasn't easy; the kid was obviously in a lot of distress. What were WICKED doing to us? Dr Leavitt had said the operation to place the implants in our heads wouldn't hurt, but what if he'd been lying? What if . . .? My thoughts were cut off abruptly as we arrived outside yet another door which, like all the other doors, had an electronic chart next to it. One of the doctors took a moment to study the chart, then opened the door. "Right," he said, turning to us. "Emily and Jenny, you're in this room." Then, before either Emily or myself had chance to resist, he and the female doctor who'd told me to ignore the crying child escorted us into the room. I heard Linda calling after me as the door was closed.

* * *

The room looked like one you would find in a hospital. Two beds stood side by side, both newly made up, both with open privacy curtains around them. They were surrounded by medical equipment designed to monitor the vitals of those who occupied the beds; I'd seen similar equipment in the laboratories when I underwent various tests. Except, from what Dr Leavitt had said, I wouldn't have to be tested so often after today; the implant which would shortly be placed in my head would make most of that unnecessary. All the same, I was still apprehensive about what was to come. WICKED were prepared to mess around with my brain and, though I was only nine years old, I knew this to be inherently dangerous. What if I didn't make it through the surgery? What if I . . .?

Just then, the doctor who'd opened the door turned to me. "It's time for me to start prepping you. Dr Geller . . ." He nodded towards his colleague. ". . . will attend to Emily's prep." He pulled a pale green hospital gown out of a drawer and handed it to me as Dr Geller gave Emily an identical gown. "You can get changed in the bathroom," he added, pointing to a nearby door. "The surgeon will be along shortly to take you to theatre."

Emily and I exchanged glances, then, sensing that we were not going to be allowed to put this off, we entered the bathroom. Still young enough not to have any inhibitions, we stripped off all our clothes and slipped on the gowns the doctors had given us; they came down to our knees and were held closed by fastenings at the back which neither of us could reach. I fastened Emily's gown and she did the same for me, in both cases leaving a rather embarrassing opening. Fighting the urge to giggle, we stepped out of the bathroom and stood before the two doctors as they inspected us. "Good," the doctor who was going to prep me said. "Get into bed and wait for the surgeon."

Soon, Emily and I were lying in the two beds - I had the one on the left - awaiting the moment when one of us would be taken to the operating theatre. We exchanged glances every so often, but did not speak; the doctors had given us some sort of medicine to make us drowsy in preparation for the surgery, so we were too tired to talk. My thoughts occasionally strayed to the other kids in this facility, the other kids who were being used as human guinea pigs, the other kids who were having these devices implanted in their heads. I tried to work out how many kids had had the operation already and how many were still waiting for their turn, but, before I could get very far, a man I'd never seen before walked into the room. This man was middle-aged and had dark hair which was thinning on top; he also had that look about him that positively screamed "medical expert". I'd encountered enough doctors over the past three years to know one when I saw one. He walked up to my bed and stood looking down at me.

"Hello, Jenny," he said, his voice betraying no hint of emotion. "I'm Dr Cullen, the surgeon for Group B."

"Are you going to put that thing in my head?" I asked, trying to disguise the tremor in my voice.

"Yes, but you'll be asleep while the procedure is carried out." Dr Cullen paused to consult a chart, then turned to the young woman who'd entered the room shortly after him, pushing a trolley before her. His assistant, I guessed. "Right. Let's get her transferred to the trolley." With that, he and the young woman lifted me between them and placed me on the wheeled stretcher which had been placed alongside my bed.

I don't remember much about being taken down to theatre, just a few vague impressions of Dr Cullen and his assistant talking as I was wheeled along the corridor. Words such as "killzone", "Immunes" and "Flare" occasionally reached my ears, but I was too out of it to take much notice. I felt as though I was in a world that had not been devastated by sun flares, a world where things like the Flare and WICKED did not exist, a world where I could just float away and leave my body behind . . .

* * *

I awoke to a blinding pain in my head, worse than anything I had ever experienced in my life. It felt like my brain was on fire; I was sure I was going to die, even wished I would just so I could be freed from this agony. Even the pain stimulators only inflicted a dull ache in comparison to this. What had happened to me? Why did my head hurt so much? Oh, yes. The implant. Dr Leavitt had said it might cause a headache, but I hadn't been prepared for anything like this. He must have lied to me, to all of us, promising the operation wouldn't hurt when he knew full well it would. This must be what that kid was crying about.

Somehow, through a fog of pain, I registered that Dr Cullen was in the room; I could hear his voice through the curtains which had been drawn around my bed. He was here for Emily, but I wasn't going to let him take her, not now I knew what this surgery entailed. I was going to make sure at least one of the kids in this place didn't have to suffer as I was suffering. Ignoring a shout from my doctor to stay where I was, I stumbled out of bed and drunkenly staggered over to the curtains, pushing them aside just in time to see Emily about to be wheeled down to theatre. I stumbled, still woozy from the drugs I'd been given; struggling to regain my feet, I shouted at Dr Cullen. "Leave her alone!" My words came out slurred, but it was enough to make him pause and turn round.

"It hurts!" I screamed. "My head! That thing you put in there! It's . . ." That was as far as I got before the two doctors who'd prepped Emily and myself ran forward to restrain me. I tried to break free from them, but there was no way a nine-year-old girl, even one who was not recovering from major surgery, could overpower two adults and they soon had me pinned to the floor. I felt the prick of a needle being inserted into my neck as something was injected into me. I could not see who had administered the injection, but it quickly ceased to matter as the world around me dissolved into a blur of colour and sound, before fading away completely.

* * *

The next thing I remember is waking up to find myself looking into the eyes of the doctor who'd prepped me for surgery. My head still ached, but not with the searing pain I'd experienced earlier; this felt like a normal, run-of-the-mill headache. "What . . . happened?" I managed to say. "Why did my head hurt so much before?" I reached up to feel my head, discovering in the process that someone had placed a bandage around it, something I hadn't been aware of when I woke up the first time. I guess I was in too much pain.

"You had a reaction to the anaesthetic," he told me. "It happens occasionally, but you're all right now. And you'll be pleased to know your surgery went well; the implant was inserted with no complications, so you should be up and about in no time. Meanwhile, I recommend you get some sleep."

After what I'd just been through, I was only too happy to obey. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift off.


	36. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty-five**

 _Flashback_

Over the next few years, WICKED continued to push us further and further in their search for a cure, determined to find one no matter what the cost. Even though we had been promised that the implants in our heads would mean an end to most of the tests we had been subjected to on a regular basis, it seemed we were being tested more often than ever. Which led me to believe that Dr Leavitt had lied to us, or at least had not told us the whole truth. And why were all these tests necessary anyway? Surely, after all this time, WICKED must have enough information about the Flare virus to allow them to start work on the cure. One day, during one of Ms Gardener's lateral thinking classes, I decided I had to know. I raised my hand.

"Yes, Jenny, do you need a hint?" If any of us couldn't solve a puzzle, Ms Gardener would occasionally offer a few pointers, but not often; we were supposed to work these things out on our own. No doubt this was to prepare us for the Maze Trials which, though we didn't yet know it, were already under development.

"No," I said. "I was just wondering why the doctors need to test us so often. I mean, we were told the implants would put an end to most of that, but it seems like we're having more tests than before. And I'd like to know why."

Ms Gardener paused for several seconds. "There are two reasons for that," she said, addressing the whole class. "The first concerns the fact that several of you are at an age where your minds are developing rapidly, allowing us to collect killzone patterns we couldn't obtain when you were younger. The implants do make it easier for us to gather the information we need, but there is some data that can only be obtained in a laboratory setting. The second reason has to do with the Flare virus itself; we have to know everything about it and how it interacts with the killzone before we can even think about developing a cure."

"But it's been six years since you started doing all these tests! Shouldn't you have enough to go on by now?"

"That's precisely the problem: we _don't_ have enough to go on." Ms Gardener sighed. "We knew when we started that it would take several years at least before we had all the data we needed. Several years during which more and more people would succumb to the Flare. But we resolved to keep going for however long it took for us to solve this problem, even if, by the time we did find a cure, only a small percentage of the world's population was left to benefit from it. That's what WICKED have always been striving towards, the survival of the human race. And that's why we've spent the past three years working on a top secret project."

"What sort of project?" asked Patra, who was sitting directly in front of me, her head a mass of dreadlocks.

Ms Gardener looked flustered; clearly, she had let slip something we were not supposed to know about yet. "You'll find out when we decide the time is right," she told us. "Until then, just forget I mentioned it. However," she added, "we have made some progress over the last few years. We now know, for example, that the blood make-up, DNA and cerebrospinal fluid of Immunes contain certain markers that are absent from those who are not immune. And, with your help, we will continue to make progress until we reach our goal, namely finding a cure. Now, let's get back to what we were supposed to be doing." The last sentence was spoken in the "end of discussion" tone typical of grown-ups, especially grown-ups who worked for WICKED.

* * *

As it turned out, we did not have to wait long to find out about this top secret project. A few weeks later, the chancellor of WICKED himself, a middle-aged man named Kevin Anderson, came personally to our quarters. We all fell silent as he entered, knowing his presence could only mean WICKED had something planned for us. I touched my head above my ear, the spot where Dr Cullen had cut me open to insert the implant, wondering what was in store for me and all the other kids in this place now. I was, by this time, twelve years old and half my life had been spent being poked and prodded by scientists who saw me as little more than a human lab rat, a piece in a puzzle they seemed to be no nearer to solving than they had been when they started.

"What's he doing here?" asked Christie, pointing to the chancellor. She was a comparative newcomer to WICKED, having been brought here only two years earlier, and was also the youngest kid in Group B at around seven or eight years old. Everyone else, with the exception of Bianca, was at least nine years old; some, including Linda and Flossie, were now in their teens. My friends and I, remembering how confused and frightened we had been when we were first brought here, had taken Christie under our wing; we loved her as we would a little sister. At first, she had spent most of her time crying and wouldn't speak to anyone, but, with our help, she soon came out of her shell and revealed herself to be a friendly child, though she wouldn't talk about the circumstances which led to her being at WICKED. I did try to coax her story out of her once, but she only reverted to the tearful silence she'd displayed when she first arrived. I never tried again.

"I don't know," I said in reply to Christie's question. We all knew who Anderson was, even though most of us had never met him face-to-face and we certainly hadn't seen him in our quarters before. In fact, the last time any high-ranking member of WICKED had entered this part of the complex had been when Dr Leavitt told us about the implants. But I was sure Anderson's presence couldn't have anything to do with that. A few kids, none of whom I was close to, had died during the implant surgery, but everyone else had made a full recovery. So why was Anderson here? I soon found out.

"All right, everyone," Anderson said. He tried to sound cheerful, but there was no disguising the darkness in his eyes. "I'm here to talk to you about something very important. Something that will help us to take the next step towards our goal of saving the human race."

I exchanged glances with those nearest to me: Linda, Flossie, Indira and Christie. From the expression in the eyes of my friends and my sister, I knew they were thinking the same thing I was. What was Anderson talking about? More tests? As if we didn't have to put up with enough tests as it was. An upgrade to our implants? It was bad enough that we'd had our brains, our killzones as WICKED called them, tampered with once without having to go through the procedure again. And we still didn't know precisely what the implants were for. We'd been told they allowed WICKED to monitor our killzones, but several of us suspected there was more to it than that.

Anderson cleared his throat and began to explain. "For the past three years, two Mazes, one for each group of subjects, have been under construction in two underground caverns. We have enlisted our four best subjects to assist us in this project. Thomas and Teresa from Group A, Rachel and Aris from Group B. Which, of course, is the group to which all of you belong. Once the Mazes are completed, they will be used as testing grounds to study our subjects' reactions to whatever Variables we throw at them. This will enable us to collect the killzone patterns we need, while ensuring that the Trials are completely free from outside influences."

"How long will these Trials last?" Tegan asked from where she and Emily were seated side-by-side.

"The Mazes are around two to three years from completion," Anderson replied. "Once we are ready, we will send ten subjects from each group into their respective Mazes. Those of you who are not part of the first insertion will enter one at a time, as will your counterparts in Group A. The Maze Trials themselves are scheduled to last for five years, though, if we can obtain all the data we need before the five years expire . . ."

Anderson continued talking for several more minutes, telling us about how our task would be twofold. We would have to build a community at the centre of the Maze, an area WICKED were calling the Glade; everything we needed to stay alive would be provided for us. But, more importantly, we would have to find our way out of the Maze. Which sounded pretty straightforward - until Anderson told us there was more to it than simply following the Maze until we reached the exit. To begin with, the Maze would be divided into eight Sections, only one of which would provide an escape route, and the walls would rearrange themselves every night. Only by studying those movements and looking for a pattern would we be able to solve this puzzle.

* * *

That was as much as we were initially told about the Maze Trials. But, from then on, our every waking hour was dedicated to preparing us for what was to come. Which, needless to say, meant we were constantly pushed to our limits both physically and mentally. Long sessions on the treadmill. Having to spend hours poring over fiendishly difficult puzzles. And we were never allowed to quit until we had performed to WICKED's satisfaction; if any of us complained, we would be reprimanded for "putting our own needs ahead of the fate of the human race". The Flare virus was still spreading in the world outside and would continue to spread unless a cure could be found. We were, as the adults constantly reminded us, humanity's last hope.

One day, after a particularly gruelling session on an indoor assault course which WICKED had set up, I was walking down the corridor when I spotted someone crawling out of a nearby ventilation shaft. A small boy with brown hair. He looked to be about Christie's age and was slightly plump. "Hey!" I called out before I could stop myself. The kid turned towards the sound of my voice, a startled look on his face; no doubt he was afraid of being caught out of bounds and I knew from first-hand experience what that could lead to. I quickly tried to reassure him. "It's OK; I'm just one of the kids here, same as you. My name's Jenny. What's yours?"

He grinned at me, clearly relieved that I wasn't one of the guards. "Just call me Chuck," he said. "Everybody else does. I heard there were girls here, so I thought I'd come take a look. I haven't seen a girl since I arrived. Well, apart from Teresa."

Teresa. The first kid to be brought to this place. One of those who had been singled out by WICKED, the others being Thomas, Rachel and Aris. The kids who were assisting with the construction of the Mazes into which the first subjects would be sent some time in the next couple of years. Even after all this time, I had yet to catch so much as a glimpse of Rachel and Aris, much less meet them, but it sounded as though Chuck knew Teresa personally. I was just about to question him about this when I heard footsteps coming from further along the corridor, heading in my direction; thinking it might be a guard, I told Chuck to get back into the vent before he was caught. As he hurried to obey, I quickly tried to act as though there was nothing untoward going on, least of all a member of Group A in this part of the complex.

Moments later, Linda appeared. "What's going on?" she asked me. "I thought I heard voices just now."

I heaved a sigh of relief; the footsteps I'd feared were those of a guard had turned out to be those of my sister. Kneeling down so that my mouth was level with the vent, I whispered that it was "safe to come out", prompting Linda to shoot me a look which told me she had no idea what I was doing or who I was talking to. However, she soon found out as Chuck crawled out of the opening once more to find himself facing not one, but two of the subjects from Group B, the group to which all but one of the girls at WICKED had been assigned. He was on his feet within moments, shaking Linda's hand as he introduced himself.

"Hi, I'm Chuck." The grin was back on his face, I noticed. "Are you Jenny's sister?" he added after he had spent several seconds staring at Linda. "You kind of look like her."

"Yes, I am. My name's Linda - or at least that's what I'm called here. I used to be called Karla and Jenny was Vanessa." Karla and Vanessa. So much time had passed since WICKED renamed us Linda and Jenny that our old names felt like they no longer belonged to us; Linda might as well have been talking about a couple of strangers. And why had our names been changed in the first place? Could it have something to do with the Variables, a term I'd been hearing more and more since Anderson told us about the Maze Trials? And what was Chuck's original name?

I was about to ask him, but, before I could do so, a guard appeared from round the corner. "You'd better go," I told him instead. Then, just as he was about to crawl back into the vent, a thought occurred to me. "Wait! Do you know a couple of guys called Newt and Neil? Neil's our brother . . ." I pointed to Linda. ". . . and we know Newt's sister, Sonya."

Chuck nodded. "Sure. Newt's one of my friends. I know Neil too, but not all that much."

"Well, could you tell him we're still thinking of him?" I asked, feeling a small stab of sorrow. It had been so long since I'd seen Neil that I'd almost forgotten what he looked like. "And could you do the same for Sonya and Newt as well?" I added after a moment's thought.

"Even better, I'll bring them both to see you tonight. Meet here just after midnight." Then, without saying another word, Chuck disappeared into the vent just as the guard walked past, fortunately without looking in our direction.

* * *

Linda, Sonya and I crept through the corridors, heading for the vent where I'd first encountered Chuck. If all went according to plan, the three of us would soon be reunited with the brothers who had been separated from us shortly after we arrived at WICKED's headquarters. My heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and fear. Excitement at the thought of seeing Neil for the first time in more than five years and actually being able to talk to him instead of simply looking down at his sleeping form. Fear as I recalled the night my friends and I (minus Flossie) were sent to the Crank pits for being out of bounds. Even though we were staying within the Group B sector this time, it was still risky to be roaming the corridors after hours. So we were constantly on the alert for patrolling guards, ducking into nearby rooms if we heard anyone approaching, waiting until we were sure the coast was clear before moving on.

We finally reached the vent at twenty minutes after midnight according to a nearby clock. Chuck was already there, as were two older boys, one of whom was fair-haired, while the other had the same brown hair as Linda and myself. The moment he saw Sonya, the fair-haired boy, Newt, ran towards her, shouting: "Lizzy!" as he flung his arms around her. Seconds later, he was swinging her round with her feet about two inches off the floor, the two of them laughing as they were finally reunited.

Neil spotted Linda and me at almost exactly the same time; within moments, the three of us were gathered in a group hug, our first since we were brought to this place. Tears of joy coursed down my face, mirrored on the faces of four of the kids in the corridor with me, two sets of siblings who had been torn apart because WICKED insisted on keeping girls and boys separate for the most part. All part of the Variables, no doubt, though I didn't understand what this near total gender segregation had to do with finding a cure for the Flare. Unless they were trying to encourage some sort of rivalry between Groups A and B and didn't want the subjects from the two groups to get too friendly with each other.

Chuck watched us with a huge grin on his face. "Told you I'd bring your brothers to see you," he said to Linda, Sonya and me. "If you want anything done, you can count on Chuck. Specially if you're a pretty girl," he added, sounding for all the world like he was pretending to flirt with us. Of course, he was far too young to be serious about it, but, just for fun, I decided to play along with him. I pulled him into an embrace and began to smother him with kisses, at which point he began to protest loudly. "Hey! Get off me!"

"Only if you . . ."

Before I could complete my sentence, I was interrupted by an urgent whisper from Neil. "Someone's coming!"

* * *

The six of us ducked into a nearby office just in time to avoid being spotted by two of the guards who came marching down the corridor seconds later. We huddled against the far wall, hoping neither of the guards would come in here and catch us; when both of them walked straight past, we heaved a collective sigh of relief, though we did not let our guard down completely. We talked in whispers, telling each other about our lives, what we thought of some of the grown-ups around here, who our friends were and stuff like that. In the process, I learned that Newt and Chuck were part of a bunch of kids from Group A, the others being Thomas, Teresa and a guy named Alby, who would sneak out at night and have little get-togethers. "There was Minho as well," Newt added. "But he ain't been the same since he was threatened with a Griever."

"What's a Griever?" I asked. From the expression on Newt's face, I could tell it was something bad and, if WICKED had threatened a kid with one . . .

In reply, Newt explained that Minho had been orchestrating an escape, only for WICKED to find out about his plans. Since he (along with Thomas, Teresa and Alby) had already been subjected to the Crank pits, it was decided that he deserved an even worse punishment, a punishment that would be administered four times, with Thomas, Teresa, Aris and Rachel being made to watch one by one. To this end, he had been strapped to a chair and a Griever - according to the description Thomas had given Newt, this was a giant bio-mechanical slug with spikes and appendages all over it, though that hardly begins to describe the sheer horror of the creatures - had been sent after him. WICKED had stopped short of allowing Minho to come to any harm since the whole point of the punishment was to show that breaking the rules had consequences, but the experience had done something to his mind. From what Newt said, he used to be a risk-taker, which probably explained why he had dared to even consider trying to escape, but now he wouldn't even join the other members of their little gang in their night-time gatherings.

"How could they?!" Newt burst out suddenly. "How could they do something like that to a kid?! And how could they separate us?!" he added, turning to Sonya. "Do you know how long it's been since I've spoken to you?! Six bloody years! I sometimes sneak into the attic overlooking your group's barracks just so I can look at you, but it's not the same! I . . ." He broke down at this point, burying his face in his hands in a vain attempt to hide his tears, which were now brought about not by joy at seeing his sister again, but by sorrow for all the time they had lost.

"At least we're safe here," said Sonya. "If we'd stayed out there, you'd probably be a Crank by now and I'd probably be dead." Her tone was completely matter-of-fact, as if she had long since accepted that being separated was the price she and her brother had to pay for their survival. "But it won't be forever. They'll find a cure one day, you'll see."

I wished I could be as certain as Sonya sounded. But, with the way things were going, I had a feeling it would be many more years before WICKED achieved the breakthrough they were looking for - if they ever did.


	37. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty-six**

 _Flashback_

A few months before the start of the Maze Trials, I finally had my first encounter with the mysterious Rachel and Aris, the kids everyone in Group B had heard about but had never actually met. However, all that changed one evening when Julio Ramirez, the dark-skinned guy who was in charge of security at the WICKED complex, entered the cafeteria, accompanied by a boy and a girl I'd never seen before. And nor, judging by the buzz of conversation in the room, had any of the others. Ramirez ended up having to shout to get our attention; we fell silent, allowing him to tell us who the kids with him were and why they were here.

"Permit me to introduce the elite candidates for Group B: Rachel and Aris. I'm sure most, if not all, of you have heard of them and of Thomas and Teresa, their counterparts in Group A. And you'll also be aware that they have been invaluable in getting your group's Maze ready to receive its first batch of subjects. I think I can honestly say we couldn't have done it without them. So I want you all to make them feel welcome, especially since they will be acting as liaisons between you and the WICKED personnel who have spent the last few years preparing for the Maze Trials. The Trials themselves will begin some time within the next few months; you will be notified of the exact date in due course. In the meantime, you should use this opportunity to get to know Rachel and Aris, while preparing yourselves for what lies ahead. And now I think I'll leave you to get on with your evening meal."

With that, Ramirez turned and walked stiffly out of the cafeteria; presumably he was going to go through the same ritual with Thomas and Teresa over in Group A, if he hadn't done so already. I watched him go, then turned my attention to the kids standing just inside the doorway. They looked . . . surprisingly ordinary, not at all like the geeky know-it-alls I'd imagined. Aris with his dark hair and olive skin. Rachel, dark-skinned with hair that was tightly curled. They seemed somewhat nervous, though that was hardly surprising when you considered that they had been kept apart from the rest of us for so long. The fact that WICKED had finally decided to integrate them with the rest of Group B so close to the start of the Maze Trials could only be something to do with the Variables, though I couldn't be sure what.

Rachel and Aris got their food from the serving hatch and went to sit at a table on their own. Deciding I would like to find out more about them, I picked up my tray of food and went to join them, followed by Linda, Flossie, Indira and Christie. We spent the meal getting to know the kids who had been part of our group for all these years, but were only now being allowed to mix with the rest of us; I found both of them to be fairly likeable, with none of the arrogance I might have expected from those who had been singled out as elites at such a young age. Actually, Rachel said being an elite wasn't all that great, especially in the first few years.

"It was _so_ boring!" she complained. "All that time confined to my room, unless I was having lessons or undergoing tests. I glimpsed Aris a few times, but I was never allowed to meet him until after they put those implants in our heads. That was when they started bringing us to a room and having us spend time together. And it was also when we found out they'd done something to our brains." She lowered her voice to a whisper and my friends and I leaned closer so that we could hear what she said next. "We're telepathic, Aris and me. We can talk to each other with our minds. Can any of you do that?"

I shook my head, as did each of my friends. From the sound of it, WICKED had included a few extra features in Rachel and Aris's implants that most of their subjects didn't have. And I was willing to bet the same was true of Thomas and Teresa.

* * *

About a week later, a notice appeared on the bulletin board just inside the Group B sector. This alone attracted attention since, in all the time we had been here, the board had been blank except for an old set of fire safety instructions left over from the days before WICKED took over this complex. But, as we studied the notice, its significance soon became clear.

 _Maze Entry Schedule (Group B):_

 _Harriet  
Sonya  
Victoria  
Flossie  
Marie  
Joan  
Yoko  
Patra  
Emily  
Vera_

These were the ten girls whose names were at the top of the list, the girls who would be the first subjects from Group B to be sent to the Maze. And Flossie would be among them, as would Harriet and Sonya, with Indira due to go in just two months after the initial group of ten. Within a few months, I would be separated from some of my closest friends, at least until I was sent to the Maze myself. But how long would I have to wait? I quickly scanned the column of names, looking for mine. Yes, there I was, thirty-first on the list, with Christie immediately below me; that meant both of us would have to wait nearly two years before it was our turn. Linda was a few names above me, while Miyoko was way down the list, her name sandwiched between two girls named Susan and Jane, neither of whom I knew all that well. But what I did know was that the next few months would be dedicated to making sure the Maze was ready to receive its first batch of subjects.

* * *

The Trials were only a few weeks away when I was woken late one night by the sound of boys' voices coming from the closet behind which the passage my friends and I had once used to sneak into Group A was hidden. But how, I wondered, had those boys managed to get into the closet? The passage had been locked for years; Selma Gates had ordered it so after the little band of explorers I used to be part of were caught out of bounds, landing all of us except the not immune Flossie in the Crank pits. So the boys must have accessed the Group B sector via another route, entered this dormitory, crossed over to the closet . . . No, surely someone would have heard them. I was just wondering if I should go investigate when Miyoko beat me to it. She got up from her bunk, made her way over to the closet and peered inside. I heard a stifled yelp, followed by the sound of someone stumbling, seconds before Miyoko entered the closet.

"What do you want? Who are you?" There was an edge to Miyoko's voice, as if she was suspicious of these boys. And I couldn't blame her, especially since the only possible means by which they could have entered the closet was via a locked passage. Except, if something can be locked, it can generally be unlocked too, assuming you have the means of doing so.

"Sorry to sneak in like this - we're from Group A." The voice was unfamiliar. "We're here so Newt can say goodbye to his sister before the Maze Trials begin."

"You could've given us a warning before creeping in like kidnappers," said Miyoko. "What are your names? Well, _your_ name, if he's Newt. We know all about Newt. Sonya is one of my best friends."

"I'm Thomas."

Thomas. One of WICKED's elite candidates. Rachel's counterpart among the members of Group A. I'd heard a great deal about him over the last few years, mostly from Chuck, who had become a regular, if unauthorised, visitor to the Group B sector. However, the only kids from Group A I'd actually met face-to-face were Newt, Neil and Chuck, though the time Chuck brought Newt and Neil to see Linda, Sonya and me had ended up being a one-off. Since then, Chuck had acted as a messenger for both older boys, so I knew they would be among the first subjects sent to Group A's Maze. I'd been thinking about asking Chuck if he could bring Newt and Neil to Group B again, for much the same reason Thomas and Newt were now in the closet.

Miyoko told Newt and Thomas she was going to get Sonya, then slipped off down the row of bunks until she reached the one where Sonya slept. "Sonya?" she whispered, shaking her friend. "Sonya, wake up."

Sonya stirred. "Huh?" she mumbled, still half-asleep. "What's going on?"

"Newt's come to see you. He's in the closet, the one with the passage we used to explore as kids."

At this, Sonya sat up. "But how? I thought that passage was locked."

"I don't know, but he's there. And, if you don't come with me, you might never get another chance to say goodbye before the Trials begin."

Miyoko's words were enough to get Sonya out of bed. The two friends crossed the room together, Sonya at a run, and entered the closet; the door was then closed to give the two siblings some privacy, but I could still hear them. Newt and Sonya were crying, presumably because this was only the second time they had met face-to-face since they were little kids. I understood how they felt; after all, Linda and I were in the same position as far as Neil was concerned, though we at least had each other. Then, Newt started ranting about how much he hated WICKED for what they had done to himself and Sonya, not to mention all the other kids in this place. "It's not right!" he yelled, so loudly that it was a wonder he didn't wake everyone in the dormitory. I listened as Sonya spoke to Newt, assuring him that they were better off here than "out there".

"But why do they keep us separate?! Why all the tests and the games and the cruelty?! I hate them, I don't care what you say."

I didn't hear what Sonya said in reply to this, but it must have been something comforting because the next thing I heard Newt say was: "I love you, Lizzy. I love you so much." Lizzy. The name Sonya was known by before she and Newt were brought to WICKED's headquarters. Even after all these years, Newt persisted in using it; no doubt, it was his way of rebelling against the organisation which had torn apart not one, but two sets of siblings.

* * *

The first thing I did the next morning was check out the closet; in the process, I discovered that the false wall which concealed the passage had been opened. This explained how Thomas and Newt had been able to get into the closet, but not how they had been able to open the wall, which had been locked for almost a decade. Unless it had only been locked from our side, meaning it was still possible to open the wall from inside the passage. But, if that was the case, why had no-one from Group A used the passage to sneak into Group B before last night? It was easily the most direct route from one sector to the other, but the only people to have used it apart from my friends and myself were Newt and Thomas. From what Chuck had said, there was a small band of kids in Group A who seemed to have explored pretty much all the secret passages in this place, so how come none of them had explored this one until last night?

I had no way of knowing. But what I did know was that, if Newt could use the passage to enter Group B and say goodbye to Sonya, Linda and I could do the same. Or rather we could use it to gain access to Group A, allowing us to see Neil one last time before he was sent to his group's Maze. After breakfast, I pulled Linda into a storeroom, closed the door to give us the privacy we needed and began to tell her about Thomas and Newt's late-night visit.

"Yes, I know all about it," Linda said. "You and Miyoko weren't the only ones they woke. But what does this have to do with anything?"

"If Thomas and Newt could get into this sector through that passage, we can use it to get into theirs," I replied. "Neil's there, remember? And he's due to go to the Group A Maze in a few weeks. This could be our only chance to say goodbye."

Linda was somewhat reluctant at first, recalling what had happened the last time we were caught in the Group A sector. But she eventually agreed - after all, Neil was her brother too and she missed him just as much as I did - and, that night, we entered the passage behind the closet for the first time in years. None of our friends accompanied us; the only one of them who had a reason for doing so was Sonya and she had already said goodbye to her brother. So, as we made our way down the passage we used to explore as children, it was just the two of us, my sister and me.

Presently, we reached the exit, pushed open the mesh and entered the laboratory. Everything was just as I remembered it - well, almost everything. The desks with their work stations and computer monitors were still there, as were the gleaming metal tools and the glass containers. But there was something else, something that had not been present eight years ago. A greenish glow and it seemed to be coming from the containers. I knew I shouldn't waste time, but there was something about that glow that made me want to find out what was causing it, so I went over to the nearest container and wiped off the condensation on its surface, allowing me to see what was inside.

I immediately wished I hadn't indulged my curiosity. The container housed a creature that was roughly the same shape as a human being, but was most definitely _not_ human. It was . . . The only word I could find to describe it was "grotesque". Its skin was tan, criss-crossed with what appeared to be veins, covered with mucus. I could just make out four fingers on each hand, four toes on each foot. And then there were the growths, bulbous, glowing, covering the creature's elbows, knees and torso, as well as its faceless head. I don't know if the creature was aware of my presence, or of anything at all, but, when one of its misshapen arms suddenly moved, I moved too, backing away from the container and the horror within as fast as possible.

"What's in there?" asked Linda, who had not attempted to approach any of the containers.

I shook my head. "You don't want to know," was all I said. But, as we made our way across the laboratory, I had an uneasy feeling that this was not the last time I would see creatures like the one I had seen in the container.

* * *

Our objective was to reach Neil's dormitory and try to snatch a few minutes with our brother before WICKED sent the first batches of subjects to the Mazes. Once the Trials began, it would be too late. There were only two ways into either Maze, a darkened lift known as the Box which would be used to send all subjects after the initial ten to their new home/prison, or the concealed Hole which would serve as an exit - if the subjects could find it. Both would be monitored round the clock, making it virtually impossible for subjects from one group to infiltrate the other's Maze. So unless we went to see Neil now, we might never get another chance, not least because WICKED were sure to lock the passage again once they discovered it had been opened.

But we never made it to his dormitory. The moment we opened the laboratory door, guards suddenly surrounded us, pointing their guns in our direction. And then we heard a voice which meant doom for any subject who got on the wrong side of its owner. "Looks like somebody's in trouble." Randall Spilker, who had risen in the ranks over the years and was now one of Chancellor Anderson's inner circle. "You girls shouldn't be in this sector," he went on, as he stepped out of the shadows. "And you're certainly not supposed to be in the Research and Development Lab. It's off limits to all kids, including our elite candidates. In fact, I seem to recall you two were part of a group who were caught out of bounds about eight years back."

"So? What about it?" I asked. I remembered that night all too well, but I wasn't seven years old any more. There was no way I was going to let this guy scare me. "We only wanted to see our brother. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is that it means you didn't learn from your experience. So we're going to remind you." Spilker looked at Linda and me, his expression reminding me of how a predator looks at cornered prey. "We're not fools, you know. After your last little jaunt into Group A, we locked the passage which emerges in your barracks. Unfortunately, we only locked it from your side and, last night, someone opened it from within. But I don't suppose you know anything about that."

Linda and I shook our heads; neither of us wanted to land Newt and Thomas in trouble. Spilker regarded us for a moment as if trying to decide if we were holding something back. "Very well," he said finally. "We'll deal with the culprits when we catch them. In the meantime, you're going to get reacquainted with the Cranks in the pits."

* * *

Within moments, Linda and I were being led down to the Crank pits for the second time in our lives. Except, this time, we were taken on a different route than the one we had taken before, one which ended at a securely bolted door. A guard dressed from head-to-toe in protective clothing, making it impossible to tell if they were male or female, unlocked the door as we approached, then, before Linda and I had chance to resist, the guards escorting us roughly shoved us over the threshold and into the Crank pits. We picked ourselves up just in time to hear the door being slammed shut, followed by its bolt being replaced.

"I love young flesh!"

Linda and I looked round with a start at the sound of the voice. A hideously scarred man dressed in what had once been a business suit was leering at us out of what was left of his face. And he wasn't the only one. Cranks were coming at us from all directions, an insane mass of erstwhile humanity driven mad by the virus which was destroying their brains - and there was no fence between them and us this time. Which, I realised as the Cranks continued to advance, was exactly what Spilker intended; because we had already had one taste of the Crank pits, he must have decided to send us right into the midst of the Cranks, see how we got on when we were on their side of the fence.

The fence. I could see it a short distance away, a barrier separating the Cranks from the rest of those in the WICKED complex. But was it also a barrier for two healthy, and immune, teenagers? And, more important, could Linda and I get over it before the Cranks tore us apart? I decided we had nothing to lose by taking a chance. "Run for the fence!" I told Linda. And that's precisely what we did, only to find when we drew level with the fence that there was no possible means of climbing over it. The bars were all vertical apart from the ones at the top and bottom and the fence itself was at least twelve feet high, possibly as much as fifteen. Even if one of us stood on the other's shoulders, whoever it was would be unable to reach the top, much less haul herself over it, not to mention that the drop was just as big on the other side. In any case, neither of us was about to leave the other to the mercies of the Cranks.

"Not thinking of leaving, are you?" a female Crank asked, reaching out with hands which only had four fingers between them. I did not want to think about what had happened to the others, though I could guess. "It gets so lonely down here with no-one to talk to except my fellow Cranks. And most of them ain't got a lot to say. Come keep me company." She smiled, revealing that the few teeth she still had were blackened and rotten. And her breath stank. I did not know what WICKED fed the Cranks on, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if they sometimes fed on each other. And, right now, it looked as though Linda and I were on the menu.

"Thanks, but no thanks," said Linda, as I shook my head to back her up. The only way we could even hope to stay safe as long as we were here was to keep as far away from the Cranks as we could, which wouldn't be easy. For one thing, we were in what was effectively their territory.

"They always go away and leave me!" the Crank woman wailed, as Linda and I ran back towards the door through which we had been thrust into this hellhole. That was the last time she uttered anything resembling a coherent sentence. Seconds later, something seemed to snap inside her and she began repeating the same two words over and over. "Go away go away go away." Others quickly joined in.

"No no no no no no no no."

"Stop it stop it stop it."

"Dinner time dinner time dinner time."

The meaningless utterances of those in whom the Flare had progressed to the point where they had lost their grasp of language and could only repeat the same word or phrase over and over. But that did not make the Cranks any less dangerous, not least because there were several among them who still had some of their mental faculties, though, as the woman who kept saying: "Go away" had just demonstrated, they could snap at any moment. However, Linda and I had no time to think about this before several Cranks, including the man who "loved young flesh", cornered us.

We began pounding on the door. "Let us out! Let us out!" we yelled, hoping desperately that someone would hear us above the cacophony of the Cranks.


	38. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty-seven**

 _Flashback_

The Cranks crowded around Linda and myself, several dozen beings who were now human only in the biological sense, their minds destroyed by the virus which had infected them. They had been reduced to the level of wild animals, utterly devoid of conscience; to them, we were little more than prey. They weren't armed, but there were so many of them that they could overwhelm us with sheer force of numbers. And, since climbing over the fence, even if we could somehow fight our way through the Cranks, wasn't an option, our only chance of escape was for someone to open the door to the Crank pits and let us out.

I was just wondering what it would be like to be torn to pieces when the door was opened and two figures dressed in protective clothing appeared, both carrying guns. "You can go now," one of them said. Randall Spilker, the guy who'd sent Linda and me into this hellhole in the first place. "And I hope you'll remember this little adventure the next time you feel like straying out of bounds. By the way," he added, "we were able to collect quite a few killzone patterns from the two of you. Which should come in useful when we start to build our blueprint for the cure."

The cure. Everything in this place always came down to one thing: finding a cure for the disease which was destroying the minds of people around the world, turning them into monsters called Cranks. "You mean you planned this all along?" Linda asked as she stepped out of the Crank pits, followed by myself. Spilker slammed the door shut. But not fast enough because one of the Cranks managed to jam his arm in the door, his mutilated hand reaching for the prey of which he had been deprived. Others joined in; it looked for a moment as though the Cranks were going to get loose and overrun the entire complex. Until Spilker and his companion raised their guns and started shooting those nearest the door, killing them on the spot. The remainder immediately retreated; they were not so far past the Gone, meaning they still had an instinct for self-preservation.

"An unpleasant necessity," said Spilker, bolting the door before any of the Cranks could change what was left of their minds. "But, until we have a cure, that's the only way to deal with Cranks. In answer to your question," he said to Linda, "we knew there had been a security violation in the Research and Development Lab, so we decided to make the most of the opportunity. You and your sister just happened to be the ones we caught. You were never in any real danger. We just wanted to teach you a lesson - and collect your killzone patterns, of course."

Without saying another word, he and his companion escorted us away from the Crank pits and back to the Group B sector.

* * *

The start of the Maze Trials was less than two weeks away when Chancellor Anderson himself came to our quarters for the first time since he'd told us about the Trials. As he entered, the buzz of conversation among groups of friends ceased abruptly, everyone turning in his direction. We all knew something serious had happened; there was no other reason why a high-ranked member of WICKED would enter this part of the complex. And, moments later, Anderson's words, as grim as the expression on his face, confirmed it.

"I'm afraid I have grave news," he told us. "The elite candidates . . ." He nodded towards Rachel and Aris. ". . . in your group have already been informed, but I feel it is only right that the rest of you know about it as well." He cleared his throat. "For some time, we have suspected that a Crank is at large within this complex, even though there have been no confirmed sightings. Nor has anyone not immune to the Flare virus, which includes the vast majority of our staff as well as some of our subjects, shown any sign of infection. However, the mere possibility of an outbreak has forced us to make some hard decisions."

"What sort of decisions?" asked Felicia from where she and her sister, Ada, were seated. I didn't know which, if either, of them was immune to the Flare, but it was unlikely that both of them were. Linda, Neil and I had the factors which caused immunity, but they were so rare that the odds of WICKED having found more than one set of immune siblings were astronomical. More likely Ada and Felicia were like Newt and Sonya, with one of them immune and the other not immune. Unless both of them fell into the latter category. Either way, they must be thinking about the implications of Anderson's words, as no doubt were Flossie and all the other members of Group B who had been chosen as control subjects.

"To start with, the Maze Trials will now last two years, not five as originally planned. This means the number of subjects entering each Maze when the Trials begin will be increased from ten to thirty. And, just in case the Maze Trials fail to provide us with the blueprint we need, we are looking into the possibility of conducting further Trials outside the Mazes. But you needn't let that concern you. In addition, all WICKED personnel will be placed on alert until the missing Crank is found and eliminated, hopefully before they spread the Flare to anyone else."

"How could a Crank go missing in the first place?" It was Harriet who spoke. "I thought the Crank pits were secure."

"They are," Anderson replied. "Most of the time. Cranks wander in, but we make sure they can't get back out unless we remove them for research purposes. And we keep a strict inventory of the number of Cranks in the pits, which is updated three times a day. However, a few months ago, we noticed that one of the Cranks was unaccounted for . . ."

Anderson continued talking for a while longer, but my mind had already shut him out. I was too busy thinking about what he had said, in particular the fact that thirty, not ten, girls would shortly be sent to the Maze. And that included Indira and Linda, as well as Harriet, Sonya and Flossie. My sister. All my friends except Miyoko and Christie. Even though I knew I would be reunited with them after only a month, saying goodbye would still be difficult, not least because none of us knew what would happen once the Maze Trials got under way. But I had a feeling they would not be plain sailing.

* * *

I did not watch my sister and my friends being prepped to enter the Maze; we'd already said our goodbyes the previous night, sharing a group hug like we used to when we were kids. But Rachel and Aris, in their capacity as liaisons between WICKED and the subjects from Group B, were there and they told me thirty girls had been successfully inserted into the Maze. Except it soon became clear that there was something wrong, very wrong. The memories of all the girls in the Maze had been erased, leaving only the names they had been given when WICKED took them away from their homes and families. "You mean Linda doesn't remember me?" I asked Rachel on the third afternoon since the start of the Trials. "Or Neil?"

She looked at me sadly. "Jenny, I don't know how to tell you this, but it looks like something's happened to your sister," she told me. She then went on to explain how, when the Doors first opened, ten girls had gone to explore the Maze. But only seven of them made it out before the Doors closed again at the end of the day, leaving three trapped in the endless corridors. Linda was one of those three, the other two being Val and Connie. "And there's been no sign of them since, so . . ." Rachel trailed off as if what she had been about to say was so terrible she didn't know how to put it into words.

"But there's still hope, right? I mean, we don't know they're dead." Surely, I thought to myself, even WICKED would never go as far as allowing three teenaged girls to die; they couldn't be _that_ desperate to find a cure. They might be prepared to place kids in life-threatening situations, but surely that was all in the name of mapping killzone patterns and was not supposed to result in any actual deaths. Granted a few kids had died when the implants were inserted into their heads, but that must have been a tragic accident; there was no way anything would be allowed to happen to the rest of WICKED's subjects. Which meant Val, Connie and Linda must still be alive, though that didn't answer the question of why none of them had returned to the Glade, nor why no-one had seen them since they got trapped in the Maze.

Rachel shook her head. "I'm afraid they probably are. Remember when we were told about the Grievers?"

I did - only too well. Several weeks ago, as part of our Maze Preparation classes, we had been shown a Griever. Or, rather, we had been shown video footage of a Griever, though even this proved too much for a few people, who broke down at the sight of the giant bio-mechanical slug. But no-one looked away or even closed their eyes; it was as though something was compelling us to watch as the Griever heaved its way across the screen, occasionally extending an assortment of appendages, each of which was topped with a deadly weapon. This creature and others like it would, we were told, be patrolling the Maze after hours, searching for victims, namely anyone who got trapped when the Doors closed for the night. And, from what Rachel was saying, they had already claimed the lives of three members of Group B, including my sister.

No! I could not - would not - accept that. I must believe Linda was alive and so were Val and Connie, lost in the corridors of the Maze but trying to find their way back to the Glade. Either that or WICKED had rescued them when they got trapped and were holding them elsewhere in this vast complex, waiting until the time was right to send them back to the Maze. I had to believe that, when I entered the Glade in a few weeks' time, Linda would be there to greet me, even if she didn't remember who I was. With both my parents dead and Neil incarcerated in Group A's Maze, she was the only family I had left.

* * *

The following evening, Rachel asked me to come to the observation room with her and Aris. She said she had requested that I be given special permission to be there because there was something happening in the Glade which concerned me. "What sort of something?" I asked, feeling a strange sense of unease. The look on Rachel's face told me I would not like whatever it was, but it also carried the message that she couldn't explain right now, that I would have to accompany her and Aris to the observation room and see for myself.

So, twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting in a chair in Group B's observation room, watching live footage from the Glade. Rachel and Aris, sitting on either side of me, explained that WICKED had equipped a number of metallic creatures called beetle blades with cameras and were using them to capture what was happening to the subjects in the Mazes. Right now, the girls in Group B's Glade were standing in a circle with their heads bowed. Indira and Flossie were there, as were Harriet, Sonya, Emily, Tegan, Patra, Yoko and several others, but there was no sign of Linda, nor of Val and Connie. They must still be missing, I told myself, not wanting to believe the alternative explanation. Just then, however, I caught a little of what Harriet was saying and her words erased any hope I had of seeing my sister again.

"I think you're meant to make a speech at a funeral, talk about the person who's died and stuff like that. But, since none of us can remember what we were doing last week, much less whether these girls meant anything to any of us, I'll just say this. Val, Connie, Linda, we'll find a way out of here and we'll do it for you."

Harriet's words prompted a flurry of questions from the assembled girls, mostly concerning how they were going to do what she suggested without more of them ending up like Val, Connie and Linda. But these questions and Harriet's attempts to answer them barely registered in my mind. Linda was dead; that was all I could think. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the image on the screen in front of me, the image of three girls, one of whom had been my older sister, being laid to rest. And something told me this would not be the last time the members of Group B were gathered together like this, that there would be more deaths before WICKED were through. But why did Linda have to be one of the first to die? And why so soon after these Trials began? Why? The unanswerable question asked by those who have suffered a bereavement.

Presently, I got to my feet and, fighting to control my emotions, told Rachel and Aris I had seen enough. "Let's go," I said. I could not face another moment in the observation room, especially when what I was observing was the place where my sister and two other girls had met their deaths. Only hours ago, I had clung to the hope that they were still alive, but that hope was now gone.

* * *

Over the next three weeks, I tried to keep going for Linda's sake, but it wasn't easy. My memories were all I had left of her and WICKED would soon take them away before sending me to join the other twenty-seven girls in Group B's Maze. And then there was Neil, my twin brother, one of the thirty boys from Group A who had been sent to the other Maze, the Maze which Thomas and Teresa had helped to build. The Swipe, as WICKED called the procedure which took away all their subjects' personal memories except their names while keeping their knowledge of the world intact, had been used on both groups. Which meant he had lost all memory of Linda and me. Likewise Newt and Sonya were also unaware of each other's existence, while Ada and Felicia no longer remembered that they were sisters.

I never set foot in the observation room again; the memory of what I had seen on the monitors was too painful. But Rachel and Aris continued to observe the girls in the Glade and gave me regular updates, so I knew no-one else had died. I also knew the girls were beginning to pull together and form a community of sorts, albeit one made up entirely of young females who knew nothing about where they came from or how they came to be trapped in the middle of a Maze whose layout changed every night. Harriet, who had quickly established herself as leader with Sonya as second-in-command, was determined to make good on her promise to find a way out and assigned the eight girls - Patra, Anne, Ada, Felicia, Cass, Caroline, Yoko and Kate - who had shown the most stamina the task of mapping the Maze. Because this involved a great deal of running, they soon became known as the Runners.

Like any community, the girls developed a set of rules by which they lived. The most important of these rules was that no-one except the Runners was allowed to enter the Maze and even they should only do so during the day. The last thing Harriet and Sonya wanted was for anyone else to be killed by the Grievers, which they suspected was what had happened to Val, Connie and Linda. And, since the Grievers only showed up at night - occasionally, one could be seen through perspex windows built into the walls of the Maze - the best way to avoid anyone suffering the same fate was to place the Maze off limits once the fake sun had set and the Doors were closed. Since no-one else had fallen prey to the Grievers, this rule seemed to be working, though I had a feeling it was only a matter of time before WICKED started sending the Grievers into the Maze during the day. Which made it all the more important that only the Runners entered the ever-changing corridors.

Meanwhile, I continued to attend classes with the other members of Group B not yet in the Maze. And I got to know a few more of my fellow subjects, such as Neffy, Wendy, Isabella and Julia, though I never formed as strong a bond with them as I had with my childhood friends. So my main companions during this period were Miyoko and Christie, with Rachel and Aris joining us whenever they weren't too busy observing those who had already been sent to the Glade. The Glade. I was not looking forward to being sent there and nor were any of the others; not only had word of what had happened to Val, Connie and Linda quickly spread, we all sensed that they were only the start.

* * *

"Jenny?" Christie said through a mouthful of pasta. "Are you scared?"

The day I was due to go to the Glade had finally come and I was having one final meal in Group B's cafeteria before I underwent the Swipe procedure. One final meal. That makes it sound like I was a condemned criminal about to face the firing squad, or the hangman's noose, or whatever method of judicial killing you might care to pick. I wasn't, of course, but I was about to be stripped of all my personal memories except the name I had been given when I first arrived here. Which, in a sense, was almost as bad as being killed. And, if the Grievers got me the way they had Val, Connie and Linda . . .

I shook my head. I had to be brave for Christie's sake; she was only a kid, after all. "No," I told her. Then, realising I wasn't being entirely honest, I added: "Well, I am worried about what's going to happen to me. My sister died in the Maze for one thing and . . ."

I was cut off in mid-sentence as two of WICKED's medical staff entered the cafeteria and walked purposefully over to the table where I was sitting with Rachel, Aris, Miyoko and Christie. "It's time to go," one of them, a woman, said to me. "Rachel and Aris, you may accompany us and help with her prep." But, despite her use of the word "may", her tone of voice made it clear that Rachel and Aris had no more choice in this than I did. For all WICKED called them "elite candidates", the two of them were essentially human lab rats like the rest of us, lab rats with a few extra privileges but still lab rats. There was a resigned expression on both their faces as we got up from our table and prepared to leave the cafeteria, the expression of those who know what they are doing is morally wrong but have no choice but to go along with whatever it is.

Before I left with Rachel, Aris and the two WICKED personnel, I paused just long enough to say a few words to Christie. Six words, in fact. And those words were: "See you in a month's time."

"Good luck, Jenny," said Christie. We smiled at each other, but it was tinged with sadness. While what I had said was true, we both knew that, when Christie was sent up in the Box a month from today, neither of us would remember who the other was. We would be strangers to each other, just as I would be a stranger to Indira, Flossie and the rest of the girls already in the Glade, just as they would be strangers to me.

* * *

I lay on the operating table, barely conscious, looking up at the mask hanging above me. That mask would, I had been told, be lowered over my face, at which point my Swipe would be triggered and I would forget everything about myself except my name. When I woke up in the Box, I would have no idea where I was or how I came to be there; all I would know was that I was called Jenny, though I would have no idea it wasn't the name my parents had chosen for me. Nor would I know this was all part of an experiment whose ultimate goal was to find a cure for a devastating disease.

A scene began to play in my mind, a scene from the days before the solar flares, before the world turned into the nightmare place it was today. A family picnic. My siblings and I, having polished off most of the food, were chasing each other, shrieking with childish laughter, unaware of the horrors to come. Our parents sat nearby, watching us, occasionally calling out a warning for us not to stray too far. Because I was so young when the solar flares struck, I barely remembered the old world, but that scene had somehow come back to me in the moments before it and other memories were erased from my mind.

As I drifted into unconsciousness, the last thing I recalled was the t-shirt Linda . . . no, Karla had been wearing that day. Teal with a pink flower on the front.

 _End flashback_


	39. Chapter 38

**Chapter Thirty-eight**

Having my memories back was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it was good to, after more than two years living with the strange form of amnesia WICKED had induced in their subjects, know details of my life before I woke up in the Box. But those details included the fact that Linda, one of the first members of Group B to die, had been my sister. My sister. How many times had I stood in the graveyard, not knowing I was related to one of the girls buried there? The sorrow I'd felt when I first learned of her death had come flooding back to me, mixed with regret that I hadn't had chance to get to know her while I was in the Glade. Even if we hadn't been consciously aware of the family ties which connected us, we could have bonded in much the same way Ada and Felicia had bonded; I'd often wondered if they were sisters and my recovered memories had confirmed it. Neither of them had survived long enough to escape, much less have their memories restored, but at least they'd had the chance to create new memories, something which Linda and I had been denied.

And that wasn't all. According to the memories I'd had restored, I had a twin brother, Neil. Or at least I used to have a twin brother. There had been no-one named Neil in Group A when the two groups met up in the Scorch, which meant he must have died somewhere down the line. But, whereas I knew the circumstances of my sister's death, I had no way of knowing what had killed my brother. All I knew was that I was the only member of my family left alive; my father had died in the solar flares and WICKED had caused the deaths of my mother and both my siblings.

I looked round at the other kids in the room to which we had been transferred to recover from the procedure each of us had undergone: Aris, Emily, Indira, Sonya and Trix. Apart from me, Sonya was the only one awake. She sat on her bed, looking straight ahead, lost in her thoughts. And I needed no-one to tell me what she was thinking about. She'd already known Newt wasn't immune before she had her Swipe removed because Janson had announced the names of all the kids who fell into that category, but the procedure would have restored her memories of who he was. Her brother. And, thanks to the Flare, he was going to descend into madness until his humanity was completely destroyed and he became little more than a wild animal.

I got up from my bed and went to sit beside Sonya. "Hey," I said. "Are you OK?" A stupid question under the circumstances, but I couldn't think what else to say.

She sighed. "Yeah. I was just thinking about Newt. You know he's my brother, don't you? I saw you when WICKED restored my memories." I did not say anything, instead allowing Sonya to continue uninterrupted. "I remember when he and Thomas came to see me one night," she went on. "I promised him we'd be able to make him safe one day and then we could be together again. Only, just when I find out who he is, he . . ." She trailed off, unable to bring herself to utter the words she had been about to say. This wasn't like her; she had always been one of the bravest people I knew, even back when she was a little kid. "He said it wasn't fair that we had to be separated," she said after several seconds had elapsed. "I told him it was only until they found a cure, but . . ." She shook her head. ". . . we don't even know if they're as close to a breakthrough as that rat-faced stick claimed."

Knowing WICKED, the answer was probably not, that we had been lied to yet again. More than a decade had passed since they started their search for a cure and, in all that time, they hadn't even come close to finding what they were looking for. All they'd done was torture (and, in some cases, kill) a bunch of kids in the belief that doing so was justified if it brought them one step closer to their ultimate goal. And, now that we'd had our memories restored, I had a feeling WICKED were going to keep on pushing us, subjecting us to ever more sadistic Variables until they'd found the cure or until all of us were dead. And, in the event of the latter, they'd probably start over with another batch of subjects. More kids condemned to a life as human lab rats.

I quickly dismissed that grim scenario from my mind. "We mustn't give up," I told Sonya. "Maybe that guy was telling the truth. Maybe Newt and the others among us who aren't immune will be the first to receive the cure." But, even as I said those words, I knew in my heart that they were not true.

* * *

I was just drifting off to sleep when I became aware of a female voice calling my name. "Jenny! Wake up!" Teresa's voice, I vaguely registered. I opened my eyes to see her standing beside my bed, with the others who'd been assigned to this room behind her. The expression on Teresa's face, mirrored on the faces of my room-mates, told me something important was happening. But what? Had one of the subjects who were not immune to the Flare already succumbed to its devastating effects? And, if so, who was it and what were we going to do with them? Would we have to kill them? If we did indeed have a Crank among us, that might be the best thing for all concerned, but which of us would do the deed?

No, that couldn't be why Teresa had woken me. While I was having my memories restored, I'd recalled being told it normally took at least a few weeks from the onset of symptoms before the victim passed the Gone. So far, of the six of us who were not immune, only Newt seemed to be showing any outward sign that his sanity was starting to slip, though Flossie had said she'd been feeling irritable, which could be an early indication that she had the Flare. And Bjorn, Jackson, Mona and Yoko had, as far as I could tell, been symptom-free when I last saw them, which couldn't be more than a few hours ago. So, if this had nothing to do with one of us becoming a Crank, what was going on here? I quickly put this question to Teresa.

"I'll explain in the hallway," was all she told me. "The others are already out there . . ." She paused, then added: "Or at least most of them are."

"Most of them?" What, I wondered, did Teresa mean by that? Had something gone wrong when one of the others had their Swipe removed? Or were my initial fears correct? Could one of the six non-Immunes among us have turned from a rational human being to a bloodthirsty monster in just a few hours? I'd known it was going to happen from the moment Janson announced that some of us were not immune, but I hadn't expected it to happen so quickly.

Teresa nodded. "Yes. Tom refused to get his memory back. Minho and Newt as well." She quickly explained that Newt had been the first of the three to say no to the procedure, followed by Minho and Thomas, who had been part of the last group of subjects to be assigned beds, along with Harriet, Martha, Shelley and herself. She'd heard Janson say armed guards were on the way to deal with the three boys, but that was the last thing she remembered before she woke up with her memories restored - and a new perspective on WICKED and their methods. "I can't explain it," she said. "But I suddenly realised all these tests they've been putting us through are never going to lead to a cure. And I overheard one of the doctors say something about starting over with new subjects if they have to. That's when I decided . . ." She paused for several seconds.

"Decided what?" I asked.

"That's when I decided we had to escape."

* * *

As soon as all of us (minus Minho, Newt and Thomas) were in the hallway, Teresa began to outline the plan she had spent the past few hours formulating. She started by explaining that, after spending most of her life believing WICKED were justified in what they were doing in their search for a cure, she no longer felt that way, especially since she had realised there was a strong possibility that no cure would ever be found. "But they're never going to quit," she said. "Even if they end up sacrificing all of us, they'll just collect more subjects and start the Trials again."

"So?" said Flossie, folding her arms across her chest. "What are we supposed to do?" There was an almost fatalistic tone in her voice that I'd never heard from her before and I wondered if this was a sign that the Flare was already beginning to manifest itself in her. If it was, the virus would over time inflict more and more damage to her brain, turning her into a creature that bore little resemblance to the girl who'd been one of my closest friends. A Crank.

"So we're going to do what we should have done years ago," replied Teresa. "Get out of this shuck place. Just as soon as we've taken care of the guards," she added, prompting several of us, myself included, to start bombarding her with questions about how we were going to do this. The guards were probably expecting trouble after Thomas and his friends staged their little rebellion, plus they were all armed with some sort of weapon which fired shiny metallic grenades from a transparent tube. At least I assumed that was how these weapons worked since I hadn't actually seen one fired, though I had a feeling it would not be a good idea to find yourself on the wrong end of one of the grenades. What chance did twenty-one unarmed teenagers have of getting past that?

"We won't be unarmed," Teresa said when Trix put this point to her. "We're going to the weapons depot to "borrow" some Launchers. That's what they call the weapon they always carry," she added by way of explanation. "The grenades won't kill you unless they hit you in the head, but they will put you out of action for a while. Which should give us the time we need."

"How do you know how these Launcher things work?" Clint asked from somewhere near the back of the crowd.

"Because we used them during the Purge," Teresa replied, nodding towards Aris. In answer to further questions, she explained that, just over a year into the Maze Trials, several high-ranking WICKED personnel, including Chancellor Anderson, had become infected with the Flare and had to be eliminated. And, since she, Thomas, Rachel and Aris were immune and therefore not at risk of infection, they had been given the grim task of administering lethal injections to these people . . . these Cranks. She did not go into a great deal of detail about this, though she did say she and the others had been given Launchers to subdue the infected personnel, as well as conventional guns which were to be used as a last resort. "I told myself we were doing the right thing, that they were going to die anyway." Teresa shook her head. "But they're not important. If we're going to escape, we've got to make our move now, before any of the adults can stop us."

* * *

It was too risky to have all twenty-one of us heading up the corridor at once, so Teresa selected six kids - Aris, Sarah, Frypan, Louisa, Clint and Shelley - to assist her in the first phase of her escape plan. Which involved starting a phony security alert in order to get as many WICKED personnel as possible into one area, where we would be waiting with the Launchers we were going to, as Teresa had put it, "borrow". As the seven of them set out on their mission, the rest of us watched until they rounded a corner and were out of sight; now, all we could do was wait and hope WICKED didn't cotton on to what we were up to. If they did, our escape could be over before it began.

As often happens when you are waiting for something, time seemed to drag on endlessly; it felt as though several hours had passed since Teresa and her group set off, even though I knew it had only been a matter of minutes. Already, some of the others were growing impatient, muttering about how we were going to have to start making our own way to the weapons depot if Teresa and co didn't get back soon. Luckily, Harriet and Sonya, who had taken charge, were quick to veto any such suggestion, saying we had to wait until we'd heard from Teresa's party.

"I say we've got to go now!" Flossie argued, pacing up and down as she spoke. A note of impatience had, I noted, crept into her voice, though I told myself she was simply on edge because of all the things that could go wrong with Teresa's escape plan. She'd said she'd been feeling irritable, but, other than that, she'd shown no sign that she was starting to lose it; the Flare couldn't be taking hold so quickly. Nevertheless, I had an uneasy feeling that, for some reason, the disease was progressing more rapidly among the non-Immunes in our group than it normally did. Which meant any of the remaining four could be next.

"And I say we've got to wait until Teresa and the others get back," Harriet countered. "Apart from anything else, none of us know much about the layout of this place, even with our memories restored. We could easily get lost or, worse, end up right back where we started. Teresa knows what she's doing; she's been here longer than the rest of us."

"Do you enjoy bossing everyone around?!" Flossie demanded, her face bearing an expression similar to the one I'd seen on Henrietta's face when she went after Rachel and Aris with an axe and on Patra's when she was leading her lynch mob. "Because I for one am fuzzing sick of it! And I'm sick of hanging around here! For all we know, Teresa and the others have gotten themselves caught or something stupid like that! So we could be stuck here forever, waiting for a bunch of sticks who are never coming back!" In all the time I had known Flossie, I'd never seen her lose her temper like this, but she was now ranting and raving at Harriet and, had she had access to a weapon, I had little doubt that she would have used it. As it was, she stood poised to rush the girl who had been Group B's leader for more than two years, to attack her with her bare hands. I was wondering if I should place myself between Flossie and Harriet, just in case things started to get ugly, but it turned out I didn't have to bother.

Bjorn, who, along with Emily, was keeping watch on the corridor, called out in a loud whisper, telling us someone was coming. I tensed, as did the rest of us, thinking it might be some of the guards come to round us all up and subject us to yet more testing. Even Flossie, who had been seconds from launching her attack on Harriet, paused long enough to come to her senses, shaking her head as she realised how close she had come to losing it.

Moments later, Teresa came running towards us, followed by Aris, Clint, Frypan, Louisa, Sarah and Shelley. "What's happening?" Louisa asked as she drew level with us. "We heard shouting."

Those of us who'd been waiting for Teresa and the others exchanged glances; none of us wanted to be the one to break the news about Flossie, but we all knew someone had to. If Flossie was indeed succumbing to the Flare so quickly, it could only be a matter of days before she passed the Gone. In the end, however, it was Flossie herself who spoke up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just got pissed off at Harriet for no reason. I . . ." She paused, struggling to compose herself before she confirmed what we all knew, or at least suspected. "I think the Flare's already taking over my brain."

* * *

After a brief discussion, we decided to carry on with our escape plan as if nothing had happened; all of us, including Flossie, were going to fight our way out of here. Teresa, who had been something of an expert on these things before she was sent to Group A's Glade, had hacked WICKED's main computer and used it to send a fake security alert to all the guards. According to this alert, there had been a breach in one of the other sectors; most of the guards were now on their way over there to deal with the intruders. Instead, as Teresa explained, they would find us, armed with Launchers and ready to use them. First, though, we would have to make a pit stop at the weapons depot.

"And how we going to get into the weapons depot?" asked Cass. "We're sure to need one of those fancy key cards, for one thing."

"Not necessarily," replied Teresa. "Not if you know how to program doors to unlock automatically." She did not need to elaborate.

With Teresa and Aris in the lead, we began to run, heading in the direction of the weapons depot, hoping we would reach it before Teresa's trick was discovered. If the guards realised what we were up to, they were sure to take action to stop us - and locking the door to the weapons depot to keep us from "borrowing" any of the Launchers and other weapons would only be the start. As I ran, flanked by Indira and Flossie, I found myself wondering what WICKED would do to us if we got caught. They'd already wiped our memories, imprisoned us in giant Mazes, forced us to fight bio-mechanical horrors, sent us into a wasteland . . . And there was no telling what else they were prepared to do in order to complete their blueprint of the killzone, an exercise which was becoming increasingly futile. That was why we had to get out of here.

"You holding up OK?" I asked Flossie. She seemed to be focused on the task at hand, but I knew there was no telling when she might lose control again, only that such lapses would become more and more frequent as the Flare ate away at her brain. Eventually all trace of the Flossie who had, I knew from my restored memories, been my friend since we were children would be lost, leaving behind an angry shell of a person. And what was happening to her would also happen to Yoko, Jackson, Mona and Bjorn, not to mention that it was, from what I had seen before our memories were restored, already happening to Newt.

"Yeah," she replied. "I just feel out of kilter, but I'll get through this. At least I'll try." She was trying to put a brave face on things, but we both knew there was no way to save her and the other non-Immunes; the Flare virus always won in the end.


	40. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty-nine**

The door to the weapons depot stood wide open, just waiting for us to enter and take what we needed. Which is precisely what we did, rushing into the room and grabbing Launchers and other weapons off the walls and shelves. Within moments, an entire section had been stripped bare, leaving the outlines of weapons on the dusty shelves. Flossie and I were carrying Launchers, fully loaded with the characteristic bluish grenades, while Indira had a pistol and a belt of ammo. Everyone else was also armed, with Launchers for the most part, though a few had followed Indira's example and chosen conventional guns. The latter would, we had agreed, only be used if all the Launcher grenades were used up. "We're not murderers," Harriet said by way of explanation. "This isn't like fighting the Grievers or those bulb creatures. If we start killing human beings, even if they work for WICKED, we'll be little better than . . ." She trailed off as she realised she was about to utter a word that would soon apply to five members of our group. I don't think I need to tell you what that word was.

"Anyway," Teresa said, picking up the thread of what Harriet had been saying, "we'll use our Launchers for as long as our supply of grenades holds out. And, if we have to use ordinary guns, we'll shoot to disable, not kill. Though, since most of us haven't fired a gun before, we shouldn't be surprised if a few bullets go astray."

"Couldn't we just take more Launcher grenades?" asked Emily. "Then we won't have to worry about running out."

"Have you tried lifting a box of those things?" Teresa asked in reply. Several of us had, myself included, and we'd all come to the same conclusion: it was impossible to carry a box of Launcher grenades if you were already carrying a weapon. Those of us who'd chosen ordinary guns could carry spare ammo on their belts, but that wasn't an option for those who were armed with Launchers. We'd just have to rely on the grenades that had already been loaded into our weapons and hope they lasted long enough for us to make our escape.

* * *

Once we had armed ourselves, our next objective was to deal with the guards. With Teresa in the lead, we left the weapons depot, heading for the area she had directed them towards with her fake security alert. As we ran, I cast a sideways glance at Flossie; she seemed to be all right for the moment, but there was a danger that she could lose it again, which was the last thing we needed under our current circumstances. And then there were the other four non-Immunes, Jackson and Bjorn from Group A, Mona and Yoko from Group B. So far, none of them showed any sign that the Flare was destroying their brains, but it was only a matter of time before they did and, if they succumbed as rapidly as Flossie . . .

Just as I was wondering what we would do with Flossie and the others like her in the long run, not that there was much we could do short of killing them, I heard footsteps pounding up the corridor, accompanied by several voices shouting.

"Any sign of the intruders?"

"Not yet, but we know they're here someplace."

"Well, they won't get away - we'll make sure of that."

"Who do you suppose it is this time?"

"Cranks. Either that or one of those rebel organisations that are always trying to shut us down. No matter; we'll catch them."

I needed no-one to tell me these people were some of WICKED's guards; nor did I need anyone to tell me they were heading our way. It was hard to tell exactly how many there were, but we would have to put them out of commission before we could proceed any further. I tensed, gripping my Launcher as tight as I could, bracing myself to fire at any guards who came round the corner; beside me, the others did the same with their weapons. Seconds later, five men and four women appeared, all dressed in the black uniforms worn by WICKED's security personnel, all armed with Launchers which they were clearly prepared to use. However, we did not give them the chance.

"Now!" Teresa shouted, raising her Launcher and pointing it at the lead guard, a middle-aged man with closely cropped dark hair. A high-pitched sound signalled the release of a grenade which caught the guy in the stomach and sent him crashing to the floor, where he started convulsing as electricity snaked around him, his clothes and hair emitting tendrils of smoke. At the same instant, the other eight guards were hit by grenades fired by other members of our band of fugitives; they too fell to the floor, their bodies twitching uncontrollably. And an unpleasant stench filled the corridor, the stench of burning flesh, a stench I'd last smelled during the lightning storm shortly before WICKED retrieved us from the Scorch.

* * *

We moved through the corridors, firing our Launchers at any WICKED personnel we came across, which proved to be quite a few; by the time we reached the corridor which, according to Teresa, led to the hangar, we'd left a trail of around fifty convulsing bodies behind us. Not that we had it all our own way, of course. Several of the guards tried to fight back, including a woman with short blonde hair who almost nailed me with a Launcher grenade; luckily, I managed to duck just in time and the grenade hit a nearby window, shattering it and sending shards of glass crashing into the corridor beyond. Before the woman could fire again, I sent one of my grenades her way. Pull trigger, fire grenade, put target out of commission. That's how casually I took her out, though I was careful not to take her out permanently. There were some lines I was not yet ready to cross and committing murder, even if the victim was in the employ of an organisation like WICKED, was one of them.

Anyway, we had managed to take the guards by surprise. They had clearly been expecting to find themselves faced with Cranks or some outside organisation, not a rebellion involving all but three of the remaining subjects. At some point, someone had set off an alarm and the lights had been killed, leaving us with only emergency lighting which bathed everything in a red glow and made it hard for us to see what we were shooting at. Not that it mattered too much; as far as I could tell, we'd taken care of most of the guards already.

"Are there any more coming?" Indira asked, scanning the corridor for signs of guards, gripping her pistol in her hand. So far, we hadn't had to resort to conventional guns, but our supply of Launcher grenades was depleting rapidly, even though some of us had confiscated Launchers from guards we had downed. Which meant it was only a matter of time before the bullets started to fly.

"I haven't seen any for a while," I replied. Which suggested that all the guards who had come to investigate Teresa's "security alert" had been incapacitated by our Launcher grenades. But we could not afford to relax while there was the slightest possibility of our being caught; we had to stay alert in case more guards showed up. Only when we were well clear of the WICKED complex would we be able to say we had escaped.

However, it soon became clear that I was right: there were no more guards heading our way. When they realised this, several kids started to cheer and hug whoever happened to be standing next to them; a few, including Bjorn and Emily, even launched into impromptu dances. For the next few seconds, our sense of triumph held sway - until Bjorn suddenly cried out and fell to his knees, clutching his head. At this, everyone stopped cheering and turned in the direction of the youngest member of our group, knowing, or at least suspecting, the reason for his collapse. For the early symptoms of the Flare didn't just include irritability; they also included problems with balance, as well as severe headaches.

Clint hurried over to Bjorn and reached out to help him up. "Can you stand?"

Bjorn, though clearly still in pain, let go of his head long enough for Clint to grab his hand and ease him to his feet. "I'll be all right," he said. "Just as soon as I . . ." That was as far as he got before another stab of pain caused him to cry out again. "I can feel something! In my shuck skull!" He looked at Clint out of frightened blue-grey eyes. "It's the Flare, isn't it? That guy said I wasn't immune and now the virus is eating my brain, turning me into one of those damn Cranks!" Clint did not say anything to confirm or deny this, not that he needed to. We all knew what Bjorn had just said was the truth; he had joined Newt and Flossie on the list of those who were doomed to descend into madness until all trace of the people they used to be was lost.

* * *

For now, though, we had other things to worry about. Already, the arcs of static electricity which surrounded the guards we had shot with our Launcher grenades were beginning to die down; it was only a matter of time before they faded completely. We had to escape before the guards had time to recover and we had to make sure they couldn't come after us. We'd all had enough of being treated like lab rats and wanted to put as much distance as possible between us and WICKED. Just as soon as we'd figured out what we were going to do with the guards . . .

"I say we kill the whole shucking lot of them!" Jackson snarled, pointing a pistol at the nearest guard, a young woman who lay prone on the floor, her body still twitching from the effects of a Launcher grenade. It was as though he had taken leave of his senses; the look on his face as he stood over the guard, his pistol aimed at her forehead, was that of someone whose actions were driven by a sudden and strong impulse to kill. Which, in a non-Immune like Jackson, could only mean one thing.

Jackson slowly began to squeeze the trigger, preparing to fire. But, before he could do so, Harriet raised her Launcher and fired a grenade at him, catching him right in the chest. He fell backwards, his body spasming as electricity crackled all round him and smoke rose from his hair and clothing. That had to hurt, I thought to myself. By now, I was used to seeing the effect a Launcher grenade had on anyone who found himself or herself on the wrong end of one, but that had always been WICKED personnel until now and I'd felt a certain satisfaction each time one of them was downed. Payback for everything their organisation had done to us over the years. But it was different when it was one of my fellow subjects and I found myself hoping I would never find out first hand how it felt to be hit by one of those metallic grenades.

"Listen up!" said Harriet, still holding her Launcher. "Our plan was to disable the guards long enough for us to get out of here, not kill them. And that hasn't changed." She placed her Launcher on the floor, then knelt down beside the guard Jackson had been about to shoot, reaching out to take hold of her under her armpits. She winced as electricity arced up her arm, but the energy had by now weakened to the point where the guard could safely be touched. Seeing this, Sonya hurried over to help her friend; between them, she and Harriet lifted the guard off the floor and stood holding her in a manner which reminded me of Ada and Felicia carrying Anne's body out of the Maze. Except this woman wasn't dead, just temporarily paralysed. "We'll put them someplace out of the way," Harriet added. "Any suggestions?"

After a brief discussion, we decided to dump the guards in the room with the broken window, the room where I'd nearly been hit by a grenade. We set to work gathering them up, all of us except Jackson, who was still incapacitated by the grenade which Harriet had fired at him. There were those among us who felt uneasy about leaving him lying in the corridor, but we had no choice. For the next few minutes, it would be impossible to get within touching distance of him and we didn't have time to wait for him to recover, not when the guards were about to do likewise. So, leaving Jackson twitching on the floor, we began the task of transferring the guards to the room which would serve as their temporary holding cell, carrying some in teams of two and dragging others. We couldn't carry all of them because Teresa said some of us needed to be armed with Launchers in case any guards we might have missed showed up, which meant fewer people to help with carrying duties. And, since none of us were strong enough to lift an adult human alone, this meant some of the guards ended up being dragged along the corridor.

Soon, all the guards we had overpowered were laid out side by side in the room where we had chosen to dump them. "We'd better tie them up before they recover," Teresa said once the last one had been placed alongside his fellows. "Because, if we don't, they're sure to come after us."

"And what are we gonna tie them up with?" asked Frypan. "You gonna magic some ropes out of thin air?"

"No," replied Teresa. "But some of us are going to search all the rooms along this corridor for ropes, belts, anything like that. And we're going to use those ropes, belts, or whatever to restrain this lot." She nodded towards the guards, their twitching bodies lining the room from one end to the other. "Aris, Harriet and Sonya, come with me. The rest of you, keep an eye on the guards. Those of you who have your Launchers, use them if you have to." With that, she shouldered her own Launcher and left the room, followed by Harriet, Sonya and Aris.

* * *

There was nothing the rest of us could do but wait and hope Teresa and the others would be able to find what they were looking for and get back to this room before the effect of the Launcher grenades wore off. Looking down at the nearest guard, I wondered what was going through his mind as he lay there, conscious but unable to move. "Who cares?" Flossie said when I voiced my thoughts out loud. "He's just another fuzzing guard - what does it matter what he's thinking? In fact," she added, "I'd rather he never thought about anything again."

"Flossie, what are you saying?" Indira asked, looking at our mutual friend as though she no longer recognised her. Indeed, neither of us had seen Flossie like this before; it was as though she had been replaced by another girl who physically resembled her but was moody and sullen, not at all like the Flossie we knew. Or, rather, the Flossie we used to know. That Flossie was slipping away from us as the Flare virus ate away at her brain and she edged ever closer to the Gone.

"Are you stupid?!" Flossie snapped. "I'm saying Harriet should have let Jackson have his way. Kill these bastards! We could have been out of here by now instead of having to hang around. But, no! Harriet has to act all fuzzing noble and spare their worthless lives!" She made to snatch Indira's pistol, but, before she could do so, she shook her head and backed away. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just not myself. It's the Flare messing with my head - and it's only gonna get worse. And it's not just me. Newt was already showing symptoms before we had our memories restored and it's started in Jackson and Bjorn as well, so Yoko and Mona could . . ." She broke off abruptly and looked at Indira and myself, an expression which told me she was about to say something of the utmost importance etched on her face. "I want you both to promise me something. Promise me you'll kill me before I turn Crank on everyone."

Indira reached out and touched Flossie's arm. "Don't talk like that. We'll figure something out."

"What's there to figure out? You either put me out of my misery or let me turn into one of those . . . things!" And, with those words, Flossie presented Indira and myself with the hardest decision we'd ever had to face: to kill her before the Flare progressed too far, or allow the virus to run its natural course. The latter option meant we would be forced to watch her descend into madness, become a grotesque parody of her former self, until her brain finally shut down and she died. But, even if it was what Flossie wanted, could we ever bring ourselves to hasten her death? And which of us should be the one to do it? There were no easy answers.

* * *

At that moment, Teresa and the others reappeared. Aris, Harriet and Sonya were carrying lengths of rope which they'd found during their search of the rooms which lined this corridor, while Teresa was forcing a man who looked to be about sixty years old to walk in front of her by keeping her Launcher trained on him. "We don't have much time," she said. "Tie the guards up, then let's get out of here. And remember," she added, addressing the man she was threatening with her Launcher. "Don't try anything. My friends and I can fly your Berg ourselves if we have to."

"You don't know the first thing about piloting a Berg!" the man retorted. "You're just a bunch of kids!"

"I think we can figure it out." Teresa's voice was calm and even, though she did not lower her Launcher. "Don't forget, this "bunch of kids" passed the Maze Trials _and_ the Scorch Trials. And, if you want further proof of what we can do, it's right in front of you." She gestured towards the guards, most of whom were still paralysed, though the effect of the Launcher grenades had almost worn off on three, all from the first group we'd encountered. Seeing this, Harriet, Sonya and Aris set to work, tying the guards' hands behind their backs and fastening their ankles together, ensuring that, even after they had fully recovered, they would be unable to stop us from escaping. "OK," Teresa said once Aris, Harriet and Sonya were through. "Now do the same to the rest of them."

The man, a Berg pilot from what Teresa had said, watched as Aris, Harriet and Sonya moved from guard to guard, securing each of them with the ropes they had brought back. But, with Teresa pointing her Launcher at him, he dared not interfere and it wasn't long before every guard in the room was tied hand and foot. A few had recovered to the point where they had regained the power of speech and told us we "weren't going to get away with this"; they were gagged with some tape which Aris had found, though, since he had no scissors, he had to resort to biting strips off the reel. At length, Teresa, still guarding the Berg pilot, nodded with satisfaction. "Let's go."

We headed back the way we had come, Teresa keeping her Launcher trained on the Berg pilot all the while, the rest of us on the alert in case any more guards showed up. Fortunately, we reached the corridor which led to the hangar without incident, arriving to find Jackson still lying where he had fallen, though the effect of Harriet's Launcher grenade had by now started to weaken. We gathered up the Launchers we had left behind while we were moving the guards, as Frypan and Aris, ignoring the static electricity that was still arcing around his body, lifted Jackson between them. As we ran towards the hangar, a figure appeared from the other direction, though we only caught a glimpse of whoever it was before a badly aimed pistol shot forced him (at least it appeared to be a male) to duck back out of sight.

The weird thing was, I could have sworn it was Jorge we had just seen.


	41. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty**

We rushed into the hangar, where three enormous Bergs were parked side by side, their bodywork worn and scorched, none of them bearing the WICKED logo or any other distinguishing marks. Aside from this, the hangar was empty save for a few crates and what I could only assume were mechanics' stations. For the repair and maintenance of Bergs, no doubt. WICKED must have some people whose job it was to keep the massive craft flying, though neither of the two stations was currently occupied. In fact, there was no-one in the hangar apart from us, twenty-one teenagers attempting to escape from WICKED's clutches, plus the Berg pilot who had been "volunteered" to fly us out of here. Or so we thought . . .

As we ran across the hangar floor, a man appeared from around the other side of a crate, middle-aged, Hispanic-looking, armed with a pistol. Jorge. So it _was_ him I'd glimpsed earlier. Which meant all that stuff about him and Brenda being Cranks who were after the cure (which we now knew to be non-existent) had been a lie; the two of them must have been working for WICKED all along. They must have been part of some Variable, one which involved them gaining the trust of one of the two groups and persuading that group to let them accompany them to the "safe haven". And that scene in the Berg where David had threatened to kill both of them unless Thomas was prepared to sacrificed one or the other. Another act. And now it looked as though Jorge was going to try and stop us from getting to the Bergs, but he was overlooking the fact that there were a lot more of us than there was of him. Not to mention that we were armed.

Almost without thinking about it, I aimed my Launcher at Jorge's chest; beside me, Harriet, Sonya, Victoria, Cass, Martha, Louisa and Shelley did the same. Eight Launchers pointing towards the same target, ready to fire. I already knew a single Launcher grenade, unless it hit the target in the head, was not fatal, but what would happen if the target was hit by several at once? It looked as though we were about to find out.

Jorge was trembling visibly at the sight of our Launchers, so much so that his pistol fell out of his hand, landing on the floor with a clatter. "Wait!" he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Just tell me what's going on and I'll . . ." That was as far as he got before Sarah, having decided she was not prepared to waste time listening to someone who was clearly in the employ of WICKED, rushed in from the side, swinging her gun like a club and whacking him right in the forehead. Jorge remained standing for a second or two, then fell to the floor; at the same time, those of us who'd been pointing our Launchers at his chest slowly lowered them.

"I hope you haven't killed him," Harriet said to Sarah.

Sarah shook her head. "No, but I've probably given him a headache he won't forget in a hurry."

"I'd have given him something a lot worse than a headache," Mona said, her tone laced with anger. "And I'd do the same to every fuzzing bastard who works here." There was a crazed, almost feral, expression on her face and I needed no-one to tell me what that expression meant. Mona, a girl I'd never taken the time to get to know, was beginning to succumb to the Flare; that was all the surviving control subjects now, except Yoko and her time couldn't be far away, though, for the moment at least, she showed no outward sign that a deadly virus was destroying her brain.

* * *

"We need to get going," Teresa said, still keeping her Launcher trained on the pilot. "And . . ." She paused, realising she didn't even know the man's name and waited for him to supply the relevant information.

"Tony," he replied. "Not that it makes any difference to you - you're still not capable of beating an organisation like WICKED."

"I think those guards back there would beg to differ. And so would Jorge, once he recovers from the headache Sarah gave him." Teresa cleared her throat. "As I was saying, we need to get going and Tony here is gonna fly us out of here. And, if you think otherwise," she said to Tony, "I only have to give the word and you'll find out what it's like to be hit by a dozen Launcher grenades at once." It was impossible to tell if she was bluffing, but several of us, myself included, backed her up by pointing our Launchers in Tony's direction. Faced with this threat and greatly outnumbered, Tony had little choice but to go along with us and led us to the middle Berg, though, even as we boarded via the sloping hatch, he continued to mutter that we "wouldn't get away with this".

"Oh, shut up and get this crate ready for take-off!" Teresa snapped. "We can't hang around here all day." She was right about that. Someone must have realised something was happening by now; it was only a matter of time before Teresa's fake security alert was discovered and, when it was, all personnel who had not been lured into her trap would be scouring the complex in search of us. And, if we were caught, we could look forward to being used as human lab rats once more, subjected to ever more sadistic Variables as WICKED continued their increasingly futile search for a cure.

* * *

We didn't particularly want to have Tony along - he was a WICKED employee, after all - but we didn't have much choice. None of us knew how to fly a Berg and, despite what Teresa had said earlier, we wouldn't even know where to begin. So, whether we liked it or not, we were stuck with him, at least until we no longer needed the Berg. For that reason, we resolved to keep an eye on him and make sure he was never left alone at the controls; if he was, he would probably try to head back the way we had come, back towards WICKED's headquarters.

"So what's our next move?" I asked once we were all on board the Berg and the hatch had been closed. I looked round at the others: Harriet, Sonya, Flossie, Indira, Aris, Clint, Frypan, Bjorn . . . everyone except Jackson, who was still recovering from the effects of Harriet's Launcher grenade. Frypan and Aris had placed him on one of the couches in the Berg's mid-section before joining the rest of us as we tried to decide what we were going to do next.

"We look for Tom and the others," Teresa replied. She was back to calling Thomas by her old nickname for him, I noted for the first time. "Which isn't going to be easy now that Aris and I have lost our telepathic abilities," she added. "But I have to find Tom, so I can clear things up with him. Make him understand why I did what I did back in the Scorch."

"OK, so where do we start looking?" asked Harriet. As the designated leader of Group B, she was technically in charge of the combined groups of subjects, though she and Sonya seemed to be deferring to Teresa for the moment. Just as they had done during the Scorch Trials.

"In the forest outside. I heard a rumour that he, Minho and Newt had broken out of here on their own and, since they can't have gotten far without a Berg, they must still be nearby." Teresa turned her attention to Tony. "Here's what we're going to do," she said in the same even tone as before. "You're going to pilot us out of here and find someplace to land this thing. We . . ." She gestured towards the rest of us, then pointed to herself. ". . . are then going to look for our missing friends. And, if you have any plans to try and stop us, remember what I said earlier." She raised her Launcher and pointed it in Tony's direction, as all the other kids on the Berg apart from Jackson followed her lead.

There is no arguing with twenty armed people, especially when all of them are aiming their weapons directly at you. Even if those people are a bunch of teenagers with an average age of around sixteen or seventeen. We had the advantage over Tony and we made sure he knew it, made sure he knew the only way he could avoid having all of us shoot him at once was to do as Teresa instructed and fly us out of here. So, even though the look on his face said he would prefer not to, he closed the Berg's hatch and began firing up the craft's engines in preparation for take off.

As the roar of the motors filled the mid-section, my heart began pounding, partly with excitement at the thought of finally getting away from WICKED, partly in anticipation of what might happen to me next. Aside from the bus ride to the gym and the time I'd spent in the Scorch, I hadn't seen the outside world since I was six years old. But I knew it was a dangerous place.

* * *

As the Berg slowly descended, the hatch began to open, sending a blast of cold air into the craft's mid-section and causing several people to swear loudly. Looking through the hatch, I saw that we were above a clearing in a pine forest, the trees covered in a dusting of snow. Pure white snow, something I only remembered seeing in pictures from before the solar flares messed up the world's climate. But pictures couldn't begin to capture the beauty of what I was seeing, the way the sunlight fell on the snow and produced an almost ethereal glow, the trees standing like sentinels in their white cloaks. It was . . . The only word I could find to describe the landscape the Berg was hovering over was "magical", an enchanted landscape from a world untouched by disease and death. A world where organisations like WICKED didn't exist.

"This is as low as the Berg can go with all these trees around," Tony said when we were about four feet off the ground. "You kids'll have to jump for it and hope for a soft landing. I'll wait here while you go look for your friends."

Teresa looked at him in a way which said she didn't think much of this idea, that she no longer believed WICKED was good in any way, shape or form. And, since Tony was in WICKED's employ . . . "And can we trust you not to alert your friends back there?" she asked, gesturing in the general direction of the complex from which we'd escaped. "I don't want to return to find a bunch of shuck guards waiting for us."

"I'm afraid you ain't got much choice," said Tony. "You'll need me to fly you away from here if you're serious about escaping. And there has to be someone at the controls to keep this thing in the air."

We had to concede that Tony was right on both points. After all, we wouldn't have dragged him along with us if we didn't need him to pilot the Berg for us and, since it was impossible to land the enormous craft properly round here, someone would have to keep it hovering just above the ground until we got back. So, having donned coats which we'd found in the Berg's onboard lockers, we moved towards the open hatch and prepared to jump. I went first, launching myself off the edge of the cargo bay door and landing in a crouched position which absorbed the shock of the impact. Even though we only had to jump a few feet, someone could still get hurt if they landed badly, or if they didn't get out of the way of whoever was next in line.

With that in mind, I got up and moved aside as Frypan jumped down to join me, followed by Trix, Louisa, Bjorn, Sonya . . . Soon, all twenty-one of us (including Jackson, who had recovered from the effects of Harriet's Launcher grenade) stood on the ground, feeling the cool breeze on our cheeks, smelling the distinctive aromas of a pine forest, hearing the calls of birds and animals among the trees. Surely, I thought to myself, there couldn't be many places like this, places untouched by the horrors which had been inflicted on the world. Well, almost untouched. The WICKED complex was only a few miles away; we couldn't see it through the trees, but we knew it was there, a reminder that this landscape was not as pure as it appeared at first glance.

Teresa took charge of organising the search parties. We would, she said, search the forest in three teams of seven, one of which would head south, one east and one west. She didn't think it was likely that Thomas and his friends would be anywhere to the north of our current location since the WICKED complex lay in that direction. "Aris will lead the team heading south," she explained. "His team mates will be Cass, Yoko, Shelley, Frypan, Victoria and Sarah. Harriet, head east with Sonya, Clint, Louisa, Mona, Trix and Jackson. And I'll be searching to the west with Emily, Jenny, Martha, Indira, Flossie and Bjorn. Keep your eyes peeled. Look for any signs of Tom and the others. If you make contact with them, bring them back here. But we can't spend too long looking; we're not far from the WICKED complex and they're sure to send someone after us when they realise we're gone. Plus, I don't entirely trust that Tony shank. So, if you can't find anything, head back here and we'll decide what to do next. Any questions?"

"How many Cranks does it take to change a light bulb?" This came from Frypan, whose attempt at humour went down like the proverbial lead balloon. Mainly because all but one of the non-Immunes among us were already showing signs of the Flare.

* * *

After spending more than an hour searching in vain for any sign of Thomas and his friends, we (myself and the rest of Teresa's team) reached the edge of the forest to find ourselves faced with an expanse of rock-strewn ground that appeared to be entirely devoid of life; there were no plants, not even simple mosses and lichens, and no animals, at least none that I could see. Just rocks and patches of bare earth, the latter the result of snow being blown about by the wind. And no people apart from the seven of us, six girls and one boy looking out over a landscape that was, as far as we could see, completely barren.

We exchanged glances, the expressions on our faces mirroring what we were all thinking. It was Emily who put it into words. "Should we carry on?"

"Yes," said Teresa. "I can't see anything, but that doesn't mean Tom and the others aren't out there somewhere."

"But where?" Indira gestured towards the rocky landscape in front of us. Several of the rocks looked large enough to conceal three teenaged boys, but it would take a while to look behind all of them and there were probably more out there that we couldn't see. All the same, we had to check it out, so, with Teresa in the lead, we set off across the seemingly lifeless ground, picking our way around the rocks, listening for any signs of life. Nothing. Just the tramping of seven sets of feet, the sound of people breathing and, from somewhere in the distance, the faint crash of waves breaking against rocks. It was as though there was no-one else in the world apart from us.

We kept going, the noise of the ocean growing steadily louder as we continued heading west, until we could go no further in that direction. The barren landscape we had been crossing ended at a cliff, a sheer drop into water that was crashing against the rocks at its base, churning and foaming. Beyond that, there was nothing but open ocean as far as the eye could see; no sign of Thomas and his friends. To the north, I could just make out a set of buildings that could only be the WICKED complex, not that we had any intentions of going back there if we could help it. Instead, we followed the cliff south, continuing our search for Thomas, Newt and Minho. Eventually, however, we were forced to conclude that, wherever the three boys were, they weren't around here.

"Guess we'll have to head back," said Martha.

"I think we should rest up first," Teresa replied. "We'll take a few minutes, then we'll retrace our steps. I don't want to leave Tony alone with the Berg any longer than I have to."

* * *

I looked at Teresa. I'd known her for several weeks now and yet I didn't know her; all I really knew, apart from what I'd seen during our time together, was that her original name had been Deedee. Our paths had never crossed while we were growing up and, until recently, we'd had no memory of our lives before we were sent to our respective groups' Mazes. "So what's your story?" I asked, feeling a sudden need to satisfy my curiosity. "Where did you come from before WICKED found you?"

"North Carolina." Teresa stared off into the distance, recalling long forgotten memories. "I can't remember anything from before the sun flares, but I know I was living in a settlement with my parents and brother. His name was Ricky; he was older than me. Anyway, we lived in this settlement - I can't recall if it even had a name, but I know it was built after the flares when a bunch of survivors came together and decided to make a fresh start. They knew it was going to be tough, but they thought they'd be all right if they made it through the first few years, waited for the climate to settle down again. But then . . ." She paused to brush away a tear and I needed no-one to tell me what was coming next.

"A Berg came. At first, people got all excited, thinking it might be someone from . . . I don't know. The government or something. Come to bring relief. Instead, the hatch opened when it was a few feet off the ground and these people in green suits started shooting everyone with darts, even the kids. Both my parents were hit and so was I; Ricky was the only member of my family they didn't get. In any case, my parents and everyone else who got shot, everyone apart from me, got sick and died within a few hours. It was horrible . . ." Again, Teresa stared off into the distance, trying to compose herself before continuing. "I was a little girl and I had to watch my mom and dad bleeding from their faces until it killed them. I remember shaking them, trying to wake them up, but of course they didn't wake up; they'd never wake up again. Ricky said he'd look after me, even though he would only have been about ten years old. But he was all I had."

"Then, people who hadn't been hit by the darts started getting sick, only it was different with them; they took longer to die. After that, those that were left started acting weird, believing in magic, saying I'd brought the sickness on everyone."

"Why would they say that?" Even as I asked the question, I knew what the answer would be.

"Because I'd been hit with a dart and I hadn't gotten sick, even though everyone else who'd been hit was already dead," Teresa replied, her tone laced with bitterness. "It must have been Flare-induced paranoia, but all I knew at the time was that nobody in the settlement liked me any more. I remember being scared and crying a lot, but I had no-one to comfort me; even Ricky had turned against me. Then, everyone ran off into the forest and left me behind because they thought I was bad. Evil. They actually called me evil . . ."

I knew that wasn't the end of the story, that Teresa (or Deedee as she was then) had been picked up by some people who, realising she was immune, sent her to the people who would one day form WICKED in the hope that she might be able to help them find a cure. But, before I could ask her about this part of her life, I was suddenly alerted to the sounds of a struggle going on behind me. Teresa and I whipped round to see . . .

. . . Flossie sitting astride Martha, pressing down on her windpipe.


	42. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty-one**

"Flossie! What are you doing?!" I hoped shouting at her might bring her to her senses, make her stop trying to throttle Martha. But, for all the good it did, I might as well have stayed silent. Flossie did look up at the sound of my voice, but she didn't release her hold on Martha; if anything, she pressed down harder, as Martha struggled in vain to push her off, only to find that Flossie was too heavy for her. Martha tried to claw at Flossie's face with her fingernails, but Flossie's only response was to use her knees to pin her victim's arms to the ground, making it impossible for her to fight back. Then, she laughed, a mad laugh, the laugh of a Crank.

"Gonna try and save her?" she asked mockingly. "Well, go ahead; I won't try to stop you. Ah, but what happens the next time the Flare takes control of me? And it will. I'm a Crank now, so say goodbye to the Flossie you used to know. But, before you do . . ." She broke off suddenly and shook her head as her madness left her, leaving in its wake the full enormity of what she was doing, causing her to release her hold on Martha. "No . . ." She got to her feet and backed away, shaking her head. "What am I doing?"

Abruptly, she began to weep, tears falling down her face, her body heaving with sobs. "I'm turning into . . . a monster! The Flare is . . . destroying . . . my mind! I can't . . . stop it! Help me! Make it stop!" Her voice grew into a crescendo of despair, the scream of someone who knows all hope is lost and they have nothing to look forward to but a descent into madness. Flossie began beating herself around the head as though she was trying to attack the virus which was destroying her mind, punctuating the blows with two words. And those words were: "Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!"

Indira, who had been examining Martha to make sure Flossie hadn't inflicted any lasting damage, turned to look at each of us in turn, silently asking the question she couldn't ask out loud. Not that she needed to; we all knew what that question was and we all knew the answer. Flossie was rapidly succumbing to the Flare, though she had yet to reach the point where she had fallen into the inescapable pit of insanity known as the Gone. For the moment, she still had enough self-awareness to know what was happening to her, but that only made things worse; it meant she was faced with the thought of what she would become if the virus was allowed to run its full course. A grotesque parody of a human being, her mind degenerated to that of a wild beast. And the only way to save her from this fate was to put her out of her misery.

Indira nodded her head in understanding. We'd left our Launchers on the Berg, not wanting to weigh ourselves down unnecessarily, but she still had her pistol. And that meant it was up to her to carry out this grim task, the task of killing a friend. Not that Flossie would be our friend for much longer the way the Flare was eating away at her mind. Only a matter of hours ago, Janson had announced that she and five others were not immune; her attack on Martha showed she was already further along than we might have expected. And she was afraid of the monster she would become.

A look passed between Indira and Flossie. Neither of them spoke, but it was clear that they wanted to get this over with.

* * *

Indira and Flossie walked a little way from the rest of us until they reached one of the patches of bare earth. I watched as Flossie knelt on the ground, seemingly calmer now, composed; there was nothing to suggest that she was even infected with the Flare, much less that, just minutes ago, she had suffered a slip so bad that she had almost killed Martha. But we had all seen it and we all knew such lapses would happen more and more often as the virus worked its way through Flossie's brain, driving her ever closer to the Gone. Flossie knew it too and the thought of what the Flare was going to turn her into frightened her so much that she had begged for death. It was the only way, now that we knew there was never going to be a cure, she could escape her inevitable fate.

As Indira positioned herself behind Flossie and prepared to put a bullet through the back of her head, I recalled a conversation between Flossie and myself back in the Scorch. I'd been wondering why none of us were showing any signs of the Flare when, according to Janson, we had all been infected with the virus. Flossie had suggested that either the early symptoms were very subtle or Janson had been lying to us and we weren't infected at all. Turns out we were infected, but most of us were immune and would never go on to develop symptoms. Not so Flossie and the other non-Immunes WICKED had used as control subjects; the Flare was a ticking time bomb inside them, a ticking time bomb that couldn't be defused. Ms Gardener, I recalled, had once told us about a drug called the Bliss which those who could afford it were using to slow the progress of the Flare virus, enabling them to carry on with their lives, albeit with their brains numbed to the point where they became indifferent to what was going on around them.

If I could have obtained enough of the Bliss to keep Flossie and the others like her going for years, I would have, even it left them in a state of almost permanent oblivion. But I was not in a position to do so and, even if I had been, it would only be a temporary solution. The Bliss wasn't a cure, just a means of holding off the Flare virus - and the virus always won in the end.

This, however, soon became a moot point. Indira, trying to control the shaking in her hands, pulled the trigger, closing her eyes as she did so, tears squeezing out from under the lids. A single gunshot rang out, breaking the silence of the barren wilderness, as a bullet was discharged directly into Flossie's brain. Flossie remained where she was for a moment or two, then slumped forward, her life ended in an instant. Indira opened her eyes and looked down at Flossie, struggling to process what she saw: a girl who had been a close friend to both of us lying dead on the ground, killed by a bullet fired from the gun in her hand.

Teresa and I knelt beside Flossie and turned her over so that she was lying on her back, straightening her legs and folding her hands; I then closed her eyelids, creating the illusion that she was merely sleeping and would wake up soon. An illusion which was helped by the fact that turning her over had concealed the bullet hole in the back of her head. But that's all it was: an illusion. Flossie had joined the list of kids who had been sacrificed by WICKED in their futile search for a cure. Futile. I felt tears pricking my eyes as I thought of all the young lives which had been lost, but I quickly forced them back, telling myself I would have time for that later. Right now, we had to get back to the Berg, but not before we did one last thing for Flossie.

"Help me gather up some rocks," I told the others, keeping my voice as level as I could. "And bring them back here."

* * *

Once we had collected enough rocks, we set to work piling them all round and on top of Flossie, covering her body and making sure she would not be left exposed in this barren landscape. It was the only thing we could do. None of us had any tools for digging a grave; nor did we have the means to build and light a funeral pyre. But what we could do was build a burial cairn and that's what we did for Flossie; this pile of rocks would be her tomb. Once the task was done, we gathered around the pile, heads bowed in the traditional gesture of respect for the dead. None of us spoke; we just stood there, thinking of Flossie, trying to remember her as she had been before, not as the Crank she had been on the verge of becoming when Indira shot her. That was what she would have wanted.

"Come on," Teresa said at length. "We need to get back."

And so we left Flossie lying under the pile of rocks and began to make our way back the way we had come. But we hadn't gone far before the silence which had earlier been broken by Indira's gunshot was again shattered, this time by an agonised scream. A boy's scream and it had come from somewhere nearby. And, since there was only one boy in our group, that meant there was only one person it could be. Sure enough, when we turned in the direction the scream had come from, we saw Bjorn, separated from us by several feet, clutching his head as though he was in terrible pain. Just as he had done shortly after we knocked out the guards, though he'd shaken it off long enough to escape with the rest of us. But we'd all known his recovery was only temporary; Bjorn, like Flossie, was not immune to the Flare.

I hurried over to him, touched him lightly on his shoulder. "Are you OK?" Stupid thing to say; I could see he was very much _not_ OK and I knew he would only get worse.

"Of course I'm not OK!" he snapped, letting go of his head and turning to me, his eyes already showing signs of the madness brought about by the virus that was destroying his brain. "My shuck head hurts - and that's just for starters! I have the Flare! Do you know how that feels? Knowing you're gonna turn into one of . . . them? An animal? Well? Do you?"

"Bjorn . . ." I hesitated, unable to think of anything to say. In fact, there was nothing I _could_ say. Being immune, I would never truly understand what it was like to know I was going to end up as a vicious, inhuman monster, to know there was nothing I or anyone else could do to save me. I knew all too well what it was like to know a friend faced this fate, but talking about it would mean talking about Flossie and, with the grief still raw inside me, I didn't feel up to that at present.

"You're going to say you're sorry, aren't you?" Bjorn countered. "But what good will that do? Will it make me immune? No! So you can take your apology and shove it where the shuck sun don't shine!" With that, he pulled away from me and began to run in the direction of the cliff.

"Bjorn! Wait!" I called after him. He didn't respond, didn't even look round at the sound of my voice, just kept running, making no attempt to slow down or change course. Which, with the cliff directly in his path, could only mean one thing. I had to try and stop him; I'd already seen two kids commit suicide and I was not about to let a third go the same way, even if that kid was infected with the Flare and was going to die anyway. I took off after him, hoping the fact that I had been a Runner in Group B's Maze would enable me to catch up with him before it was too late. If nothing else, I might be able to persuade him to come back to the Berg with the rest of us, though that didn't alter the fact that we might end up having to do to him what Indira had, just minutes ago, done to Flossie. And then there were the other kids who were not immune.

* * *

I found him standing on the edge of the cliff, facing out to sea as the waves pounded against the rocks below. Even though I couldn't see his face, I could hear that he was breathing in the short gasps that often accompany tears. He hadn't jumped yet, though, so maybe I would be able to persuade him not to. At least I could try. "Bjorn," I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could muster, "come away from the edge."

He didn't turn round, but I knew he'd heard me because the next thing he said was: "Go away!"

I tried again. "Please, listen to me. You're not well. You have a virus in your brain that's . . ."

That was as far as I got before Bjorn launched into an angry diatribe, ranting and raving about the circumstances which had led to him being on this cliff. "You think I don't know?! I can feel the Flare eating away at me! It's like there are insects in my head, burrowing through my brain! Not that it matters to you. You're like all Munies, laughing because you know you'll never go crazy like Flossie and me." He made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sob. "Ever since that rat-faced guy said I wasn't immune, that's all I've been able to think about. I've seen Cranks who were well past the Gone, little more than animals. And there's only one thing that can stop me from ending up like them. So laugh at this!"

As he launched himself off the edge of the cliff, it was as though time itself had slowed down. His scream as he disappeared over the precipice seemed to go on forever, but it couldn't have been more than a few seconds before it was abruptly cut off. Heart pounding, I hurried to the spot where he had been standing only moments before and looked down at the ocean below, catching a brief glimpse of his head bobbing on the surface before he was swallowed up by the churning water. "Bjorn!" I screamed, my mind still struggling to accept the reality of what my eyes had seen. "Bjorn!"

The only reply I received was the sound of waves crashing against the rocks.

I fell to my knees, tears blurring my vision. Images of Flossie and Bjorn seemed to hover before me, two more fatalities of WICKED's cruel experiments, two more victims of the virus which had made it necessary to conduct those experiments in the first place. Even though I'd known there was nothing that could save either of them - they were control subjects, chosen because WICKED needed non-Immunes to provide comparative data - grief still overwhelmed me. Flossie had been my friend and Bjorn was . . . I barely knew him, but, from what I'd seen, he'd seemed like a pretty cool kid. Brave too; he'd faced off against the bulb creatures without flinching, even though he was the youngest person present. In the end, however, no amount of bravery could save him from the Flare.

* * *

"Jenny?"

I looked up at the sound of Teresa's voice, turning to see her standing nearby with Indira, Emily and Martha. How long had they been there? Had they witnessed what had just happened? I did not have long to wonder before Teresa spoke again. "What's going on? Where's Bjorn? We saw you both heading this way, so what happened to him?"

Staggering to my feet, I pointed in the direction of the cliff. "He . . . jumped off. I tried to stop him, but . . ." I shook my head, silently letting Teresa and the others know we had lost Bjorn as well as Flossie. Of the seven of us who had set out west in search of Thomas, Newt and Minho, only five would be returning to the Berg and we would be doing so without the boys we had been trying to find. But Thomas and his friends were the last thing on my mind at present; all I could think about was Indira shooting Flossie in the back of the head, Bjorn throwing himself off the cliff. "Two more kids," I said out loud. "Dead."

"Which still leaves nineteen of us," Teresa reminded me. "Twenty-two counting Tom and the others."

"You think they're still alive?"

Teresa shrugged. "I don't know. But, until someone confirms their deaths, I'm gonna hope they're out there someplace and we'll find them again. I have to make Tom understand why I did all that stuff I did back in the Scorch."

"You've said that before," said Indira, speaking for the first time since she'd put Flossie out of her misery. "But I don't know why you felt you had to take it as far as you did."

"I was doing it to protect him! I'd never really betray him any more than you'd betray Jenny, but I had to make him _think_ I'd turned against him. When Janson told us we'd be getting our memories back, I thought it would make Tom see that I'm still the same person I've always been, but he and his shuck friends were too suspicious for their own good." Teresa sighed. "I don't know if they'll ever trust me again, but I have to find them. I have to make them see that I thought I had no choice but to go along with what Janson told me to do. He said, if I didn't co-operate, he'd make sure Tom was killed and I didn't want that. Even with my memory wiped, I sensed a connection between Tom and myself. I had to save him, but the only way I could do it was to pretend I hated him and wanted him dead." She closed her eyes as a tear slowly traced its way down her cheek.

"That's why I have to find Tom again," she went on. "I have to at least try to persuade him to forgive me. And I have to make up for what I did while I was working for WICKED. Which means doing whatever I need to do to stop them from starting the Trials again. There are others like us out there, other people who are immune to the Flare, and we have to find them before WICKED do."

We exchanged glances, each of us thinking the same thing. WICKED were a big organisation - what chance did a teenaged girl, even one who'd previously worked for them, have of stopping them? Of course, Teresa wouldn't have to try and take WICKED down single-handed; she'd have us, the other kids who had been subjects in the Trials, to back her up. Even if we took the remaining non-Immunes out of the equation, that still left sixteen of us, eighteen if we could find Thomas and Minho and convince them to join us. But would eighteen of us be enough? Probably not, which meant we would have to try and find help from outside. There must be people out there who didn't like WICKED any more than we did, people who wanted to put an end to the organisation that had stolen so many kids and sacrificed most of them for a cause we now knew to be futile. We would have to try and join up with one of these groups, but where would be the best place to start looking?

"Denver," Teresa replied when I put this question to her.

"Denver?"

Teresa nodded. "Yes. It's one of the safe zones; no-one's allowed in unless they're immune, or at least uninfected. Which means we'll have to figure out what we're gonna do with those of us who aren't immune - sneak them in somehow, I guess. But it's the best option we've got."

After a brief discussion, we concluded that Teresa was right: going to Denver was probably our best bet. But Denver was a long way from where we were now, I recalled from Ms Gardener's geography lessons. It was in Colorado; we were in Alaska, which was way up in the far north-west of North America. If we tried to go on foot, there was no telling how long it would take or even if we would get there at all. Which meant we would have to go back to the Berg, which was where we'd been heading anyway, and tell the others what Teresa had told us. Hopefully, this would be enough to convince them that Denver should be our next destination, though we had no idea what we would find when we got there. But anything was better than just picking a place at random and hoping for the best; if we did that, it would be just our luck if we ended up back in WICKED's clutches.

"Come on," Teresa said. And, with her in the lead, we began to make our way back to the clearing in the forest where we'd left the Berg.


	43. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty-two**

As we entered the clearing, we saw that the other two search parties had returned ahead of us and were standing around in their respective groups. Aris with Cass, Frypan, Sarah, Shelley, Victoria and Yoko. Harriet with Clint, Jackson, Louisa, Mona, Sonya and Trix. No sign of Thomas, Newt and Minho, though. I was just wondering if we should search more thoroughly, make absolutely certain they weren't in the area before we moved on, but, before I could suggest this, Harriet came hurrying over.

"It's about time you got here," she told us. Then, she frowned, noticing that our party had been reduced from seven to five. "Where are Flossie and Bjorn?" she asked, the look on her face telling me she suspected the worst and just needed one of us to confirm it.

We all exchanged glances. Emily, Indira, Martha, Teresa and myself. None of us wanted to break the news about Flossie and Bjorn, but someone had to; the others had to know we had lost two more kids. Finally, Teresa sighed, realising it was up to her. As the leader of the party which had included our most recent fatalities, she should be the one to tell everyone else what had happened. And so, keeping her voice even and her eyes dry, she began to explain how Flossie had flipped out and tried to throttle Martha, had then broken down and pleaded for death, how Indira had carried out her final wish and shot her in the back of the head. I glanced across at Indira, glimpsing a flicker of guilt as it crossed her face; she quickly looked down at the ground. Teresa was just talking about how we had buried Flossie under a pile of rocks when Harriet interrupted her.

"And Bjorn? What happened to him?"

This time, I was the one who replied. "He . . ." I hesitated, taking a deep breath, recalling the events which had unfolded on the cliff-top. "He went nuts too," I said after a lapse of several seconds. "The Flare was . . . doing stuff to his brain; he said there were insects in his head. Then he . . ." I could feel tears tracing their way down my cheeks, but I had to do this; the kids in the other search parties had to know what had happened, especially the remaining boys from Group A. Bjorn had been a member of their group, after all. "He threw himself off a cliff," I finally choked out, recalling how I had tried to stop him. I'd known deep down that it was futile, that the Flare was killing him anyway, but I couldn't just stand by and watch as a fourteen-year-old boy took his own life, not when I'd already seen two suicides in my seventeen years on Earth.

The silence which followed was finally broken by a single word uttered by Clint. And that word was: "Dead?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Could things get any worse? We'd managed to escape from the WICKED complex, but that small triumph was overshadowed by the deaths of Flossie and Bjorn. Not to mention that we still had no idea where Thomas and his friends were, or even if they were alive. For all we knew, there were five, and not two, new additions to the list of those we had lost.

* * *

We had no choice but to move on. There was nothing more we could do for Bjorn and Flossie apart from being grateful they had been spared the fate of degenerating into the animalistic creatures they would have become had the Flare been allowed to run its full course. A fate which still awaited Jackson, Yoko and Mona, not to mention Newt, who was out there somewhere, along with Thomas and Minho. At least Teresa hoped they were out there and she was determined to find them so that she could set things straight with them.

"OK," said Harriet once Teresa was through explaining this. "But where do we start?"

In reply, Teresa told Harriet and the others about her plans to go to Denver and try to find other Immunes, unite them against WICKED. "Tom and the others might be heading that way too," she added. "Once we're there, we can make contact with a local anti-WICKED group, ask them to keep an eye out for three boys. Or rather two boys; if they're really as strict about keeping the infected out as they say, they'll send Newt straight to the Crank Palace, unless Tom and Minho can sneak him in somehow. Which is what we're gonna do with Jackson, Yoko and Mona. I haven't figured out how yet, but there are sure to be chinks in their fancy quarantine system; we just have to find them."

"And then what?" asked Trix. "How do we make sure Jackson and the others don't get caught once we're in the city?" Everyone turned to look at the three remaining non-Immunes; they were not as far gone as Bjorn and Flossie had been, but Jackson and Mona had both started to display the increased irritability that was one of the first warning signs while we were still inside WICKED's headquarters. That left Yoko, symptom-free for the moment. But with the Flare virus already taking root inside her, it was only a matter of time before she too started to lose it. Even if we could get her, and Jackson and Mona, into Denver, chances were the three of them would be found out sooner or later.

"Come on," Teresa said, ignoring Trix. "Let's get out of here." She turned in the direction of the Berg, which was still hovering a few feet above the clearing, and, taking a running jump, launched herself through the hatch. One by one, we followed her until all nineteen of us were inside the large craft which would, we hoped, take us to Denver.

* * *

Since we couldn't pilot the Berg ourselves, we still needed Tony's help. So the first thing Teresa did as soon as everyone had boarded the craft was pick up one of the Launchers and head straight for the controls, where Tony was standing, as the rest of us followed her lead. We fanned out in a semi-circle with Frypan and Yoko at either end and Teresa right in the middle, flanked by Harriet and Sonya. Teresa raised her Launcher and pointed it at Tony. "All right," she said evenly. "Here's the deal. You're going to fly us to Denver."

"Oh, yeah?" Tony countered. "Maybe I'd rather take you someplace else - like back to the WICKED complex. Do you kids realise how much research goes down the can if . . .?"

Teresa cut him off before he could finish speaking. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. My friends and I are going to Denver and we need you to take us there; otherwise, I'd zap you on the spot. And, in case you think you can overpower me, let me remind you that I have eighteen other kids to back me up."

As if Teresa's words had served as a cue, we began to raise our Launchers one by one. Harriet was the first to do so, followed by Sonya, then Aris, then Louisa, then Indira, then Clint . . . and so on until all nineteen of us were aiming the weapons directly at Tony, our fingers poised on the triggers. "Last chance," Teresa said to Tony. "Take us to Denver, or I give the word and we use you as target practice! I take it you know the effect of a single Launcher grenade. Care to find out what happens if you get hit by nineteen of them?"

Faced with this, Tony had no choice but to do what Teresa said and, swearing and muttering about how we "weren't going to get away with this", began to set course for Denver, the city which was supposedly a safe haven for those not infected with the Flare. A safe haven. Trouble was, I'd heard that term before and the place we'd been sent to had turned out to be anything but safe. Instead of finding the promised cure for the Flare, we'd lost ten kids to a combination of the bulb creatures which WICKED had sent after us and the lightning storm which had broken during the battle. So who was to say there wasn't some nasty surprise waiting for us in Denver? But, since the same could probably be said about all the other cities in the world, it didn't make much difference where we went. And, if the authorities in Denver really were as diligent about keeping the Cranks out of the city as Teresa had said, we might finally be safe.

Of course, there was the "small matter" of the non-Immunes among us. Flossie and Bjorn were dead, but that still left Jackson, Yoko and Mona. Somehow, we would have to find a way of getting them into Denver and, once we were there, making sure they didn't get hauled off to that place called the Crank Palace which Teresa had mentioned. I had no idea what a Crank Palace was, just a vague recollection of hearing the term when I was a little kid in Chicago, but Teresa's tone when she said those two words had told me it was not as luxurious as it sounds.

Just then, Yoko, who had seemed fine a moment ago, groaned and sank to her knees, dropping her Launcher as though it had suddenly become too heavy for her. As she grabbed hold of her head as though she was in terrible pain, I needed no-one to tell me what was happening. A severe headache was exactly how the Flare had first manifested itself in Bjorn.

* * *

Most of us clustered around Yoko, leaving Teresa, Aris and Harriet to keep an eye on Tony; even though he hadn't flown off and left us all in the lurch, we still didn't entirely trust the guy. Yoko was clutching her head and moaning in pain, her fingers so tightly entwined in her black hair that it looked as though she was about to start ripping chunks of it out. And she kept repeating the following words between moans: "The demons! The demons have got me!" No doubt this was a sign that her mind was already slipping, that she was spiralling inexorably towards the Gone. And so were Jackson and Mona. Three - no, four; there was Newt as well and, until we knew otherwise, there was a chance that he, Thomas and Minho were still alive - kids who faced the prospect of losing their humanity and becoming the horrors known as Cranks.

Seconds which felt far longer than they were in reality passed before Cass stepped forward and reached out to help Yoko to her feet. Yoko didn't resist, didn't even seem aware of what was happening. And, when she looked up, her eyes appeared blank and empty, as though the soul that lay behind them had already gone, leaving only an empty shell of a human being. Then, she spoke and her words confirmed my worst fears. "Where am I? Who are all you people?" For a moment, I was reminded of the Box, of kids emerging from its depths unable to remember anything except their names. But this was worse; the Flare had already affected Yoko's memory and she now had no idea who any of us were.

"It's all right," said Cass. "I'm your friend; my name's Cass."

"Cass?" Yoko repeated the name, her brow furrowed as she tried in vain to recall where she had heard it before, what (if anything) the girl against whom she was leaning meant to her. "That's a nice name. And what's mine?"

"Yoko," Cass replied. Another blank look. "Your name is Yoko. We and all these other kids are . . . going somewhere. Somewhere we can be safe."

"Safe from what? Are we in some kind of danger? I can't . . ." Yoko suddenly broke down in tears, which wasn't at all like her, a sure sign that the Flare was causing emotional disturbances in her; I'd seen it before in both Flossie and Bjorn. "What's happening to me?! Why can't I remember anything?!"

"You've caught a virus and it's affecting your memory, making you forget things." What Cass was saying was the truth, but not the whole truth. She left out all the stuff about how Yoko would only get worse, how the Flare would cause her to spiral deeper and deeper into madness, how she would eventually become little more than an animal. Cass sighed deeply as she tried to work out what she was going to say next. Should she lie and tell Yoko she was going to be all right? Or should she be honest about the grim prognosis for anyone who caught the Flare virus and wasn't immune to its effects?

* * *

I did not stick around to see how Cass solved the dilemma which Yoko had presented her with. Feeling a sudden need to be alone, I went off to explore the interior of the Berg. This was the third Berg I'd travelled in, the other two being the one which brought Linda, Neil and myself from Chicago and the one which picked up the survivors of the Scorch Trials, but I'd never had a good look round one of these huge craft before. To be honest, I wasn't all that interested; I just needed an excuse to get away from everyone for a while. Especially Jackson, Yoko and Mona; my grief for Flossie and Bjorn was still raw and the last thing I wanted right now was to be around others who faced the same fate.

After I had been exploring for a few minutes, I came across something in one of the rooms which branched off from the mid-section. A workpad, a hand-held computer which could store a vast amount of data. Curious, I sat down on the floor and switched it on, half-expecting to find myself faced with a screen asking me to input a password which, needless to say, I did not know. Fortunately, whoever owned the device hadn't bothered to set up a password for the whole thing, though most of the individual files and folders proved to be another story. I was just wondering if I should forget about the workpad and rejoin the others when I stumbled across a folder labelled _Subjects_ which, when I clicked on it, revealed two sub-folders, one labelled _Group A_ , the other labelled _Group B_. Clicking on the _Group A_ folder, I brought up a list of files:

 _Subject A1 Teresa Agnes  
Subject A2 Thomas  
Subject A3 Damien  
Subject A4 Adam  
Subject A5 Newt  
Subject A6 Christopher  
Subject A7 Minho  
Subject A8 Larry  
Subject A9 Spike  
Subject A10 Alfred_

. . . and so on until it got to _Subject A60 Ben_. I noted in passing that Clint was _Subject A13_ , Jackson was _Subject A23_ and Frypan (or Siggy to use the name which WICKED had chosen for him) was _Subject A29_. Bjorn was . . . had been _Subject A45_ , Matthew, his friend who had been killed by lightning, _Subject A20_. And, only a few names above Matthew, I saw:

 _Subject A17 Neil_

Neil. My twin brother whom I hadn't seen since I was twelve. And, thanks to WICKED, I would never see him again; they had killed him, just as they had killed so many other kids, including our sister, Linda. A couple of files on a hand-held computer were all I had left of my siblings. I scrolled back up the list, clicked on Neil's file and a list of stats popped up, telling me his original name had been Robbie, he had been six years old on entering WICKED, he had been brought from Chicago along with _Subjects B17_ and _B18_ . . . But, apart from the revelation that Linda had been _Subject B18_ , the file told me nothing I hadn't recalled when the Swipe was removed. Certainly nothing about what had happened to him. I sighed and closed the file, feeling the floor start to vibrate under me as I did so. Seconds later, the hum of an engine told me we were on our way once more.

* * *

I knew I ought to head back to the mid-section, but I wanted to explore the contents of the workpad, at least those that weren't password-protected. I started with the files on my fellow subjects. Going through them, I learned that Thomas's birth name had been Stephen, that Bjorn had originally been called Michael, that Sarah's parents had named her Katy, that Christie had been known as Angela for the first few years of her short life . . . and so on. Just over half of us had been born in North America; those who came from further afield reflected the fact that WICKED was an international organisation with representatives from all the nations that had survived the sun flares. And, out of all of us, only Teresa and Aris (whose file was labelled _Subject B1 Aris Jones_ ) had been assigned surnames. I wondered why that was, but I knew it was unlikely I would ever find out.

When I was through looking at the files on my fellow subjects, I turned my attention to the rest of the workpad's contents. The first thing I clicked on that didn't require a password was an old memo from thirteen years ago which a guy named Chancellor John Michael had sent to all the board members at the PFC. It talked about something called Executive Order #13, warning that it was "to be considered TOP-SECRET, of the highest priority, on penalty of capital punishment". In other words: "If any of this gets out, those responsible will be sentenced to death." And something told me this was not an idle threat. I read a little further:

 _We the Coalition hereby grant the PCC express permission to fully implement their PC Initiative #1 as presented in full and attached below. We the Coalition take full responsibility for this action and will monitor developments and offer assistance to the fullest extent of our resources. The virus will be released . . ._

That was as far as I got before I was alerted by the sound of someone, a male, ranting and raving elsewhere on the Berg. Switching the workpad off, I stuffed it into my pocket, telling myself I would finish checking it out later. Then, before I had time to think about it, I ran out of the room, down the corridor and into the mid-section, which, as far as I could tell, was the source of the commotion. I arrived to find myself confronted with the sight of Jackson, his eyes filled with a feral look, a sure sign that the Flare had progressed to the point where he was losing his humanity, brandishing a pistol. "I'll shoot you!" he shouted, spit flying from his mouth. "I'll shoot every one of you shucking Munies!"


	44. Chapter 43

**Chapter Forty-three**

Clint and Frypan approached Jackson slowly, taking care to stay out of the line of fire. "Jackson," Clint said, keeping his tone even and his eyes focused on the crazed boy who was brandishing a pistol at everyone, "why don't you put the gun down so we can talk about this sensibly? OK, so you're not immune and that sucks. But there's no need to take it out on all of us." He was trying to talk his fellow subject down, to appeal to what remained of Jackson's sanity, but his efforts were proving as successful as my attempt to save Bjorn. Jackson's mind was being devoured by the Flare.

"What you gonna do? Call a Gathering like Alby used to? He ain't in charge no more, in case you've forgotten. Besides, I'm a Crank now, so it doesn't matter what you do to me. If I have to die from the Flare, I'm taking all you Munies down with me!" Jackson let loose a mad burst of laughter and fired his gun; luckily for us, he wasn't aiming properly and the bullet ended up lodged in the wall, though, had its trajectory taken it just a couple of inches to the right, it would have hit Emily in the head. "I hate you!" Jackson shouted, his face a mask of ugly insanity. "I hate you all!"

As Jackson fired more bullets, most of us took cover behind the furniture, leaving Frypan and Clint to continue to try and bring him to his senses, at least temporarily. "Jackson, listen," said Frypan. "This isn't you, man. It's the Flare making you do these things. But you can't be past the Gone yet, so why are you acting like you are? Just . . ."

Jackson cut him off with another burst of crazed laughter. "Yeah, you're right. It's the shuck Flare making me want to kill all you Munies. Kill you and feast on your flesh! Mmm . . ." He licked his lips in anticipation. "I wonder what human flesh tastes like. Well, I guess I'll soon find out. How would you like to be first on the menu? Course, I'd have to get rid of all your hair, but . . ." He never completed his sentence. Suddenly, the high-pitched sound of a Launcher being fired was followed by a grenade slamming into Jackson's head from behind and exploding in a burst of energy that crackled all around him; he collapsed to the floor, his brain fried in an instant, smoke issuing from his body. Once more there was the acrid smell of burnt flesh that I'd smelled during the lightning storm and again while we were fighting our way out of the WICKED complex. And, as Jackson fell, I saw who had fired the grenade which had reduced our numbers still further.

Teresa was standing directly behind him, holding a Launcher at shoulder height. As I watched, she slowly lowered the weapon and looked down at the boy she had just killed. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't have a choice. It was this or let him descend even further into madness." Her words were completely matter-of-fact, but there was a slight tremor in her voice that told me she really hadn't wanted to do this, even though it had saved Jackson from the far worse fate which awaited him. And it was all WICKED's doing. They were the ones who had convinced her that whatever they did, no matter how inhumane, was justified if it was done in the name of finding a cure for the Flare, a cure we now knew was never going to happen. And they were the ones who had decided they needed non-Immunes as control subjects. Kids like Jackson.

* * *

Once the effects of the grenade had worn off and we could approach Jackson's body without getting zapped with static electricity, we wrapped him in blankets which Sonya had found in one of the Berg's storage lockers, covering him completely. "OK," said Trix as we stood looking at the grim bundle on the floor. "What do we do now? It's not like we can have a funeral up here."

"But we can once we've landed," Harriet replied. "Which can't be much longer now. Tony's been flying this thing for hours without help; he's gonna need to take a rest soon. We'll decide what to do with Jackson then. In the meantime, someone had better move him off the floor." She looked at each of us in turn, silently asking if there were any volunteers. At first, no-one moved, but then Teresa stepped forward, her face set in a determined expression.

"I'll do it," she said. "I'm the one who took the decision to end his life."

"So will I," said Indira. She also stepped forward. "What Teresa did to Jackson was hard; I know because I had to do the same thing." She did not mention Flossie, but we all knew what she was talking about. And, if it had been hard for Teresa to kill Jackson, a boy whose only connection with her was the fact that he had been part of the same group, it had been even harder for Indira to kill Flossie, one of her closest friends. So, because Flossie had been my friend as well, I volunteered to join Teresa and Indira in the task of moving Jackson's body. Last of all, Sonya, whose own brother was among those not immune to the Flare, stepped forward. The four of us stood around the blanket-covered corpse, one at each corner, preparing to lift it off the floor.

"On the count of three, lift!" said Teresa. "One, two, three!" And, moving as one, we took hold of the corners of the blanket covering Jackson and hoisted him off the floor, Teresa and Sonya taking the end where his feet were, while Indira and I were by his head. As the others watched in silence, we carried the latest fatality of WICKED's doomed experiments across the mid-section, heading for one of the couches; this would be his temporary resting place. Along the way, I caught a glimpse of Yoko and Mona, who were standing apart from everyone else, and found myself wondering how long it would be before they too succumbed to the Flare. Probably not very long, judging by how rapidly the disease had progressed in Flossie, Bjorn and Jackson.

And why had that happened? From what I knew of the Flare, it normally took at least a few weeks before it really took hold. It was only a matter of hours since Janson told us some of us were not immune and half the kids who fell into that category were already dead, though the Flare hadn't killed any of them directly. Instead, one had committed suicide and the other two had been mercy-killed, but they'd all been showing clear symptoms before they died. So what was going on? Why was the Flare behaving differently in the members of our group? Perhaps the workpad I'd found had the answer; I would have to check it out later.

In the meantime, I helped Teresa, Indira and Sonya with the task of moving Jackson's body from floor to couch. As we lowered him onto the couch where he would lie until more permanent arrangements could be made, one of his arms came loose from the wrappings which covered him and dangled limply, rigor mortis having not yet had time to set in. We jumped back, an instinctive reaction which even familiarity with dead bodies couldn't suppress.

* * *

A couple of hours later, the Berg slowly lowered to the ground and the huge cargo bay doors opened to reveal a landscape dominated by what had once been a majestic forest, but which now consisted of row upon row of dead trees, their trunks blackened, their branches destined never to bear leaves again. The result, no doubt, of a forest fire which had been ignited when the sun flares slammed into the Earth, a forest fire which must have burned unchecked for weeks with no resources available to fight the blaze; the few surviving emergency services had been stretched to breaking point trying to cope with the effects the flares had on the human population. At most, attempts might have been made to evacuate any towns in the danger zone, but even that was unlikely, not least because there was the question of where all the people were going to go. Put simply, you couldn't relocate entire populations into areas which were themselves struggling in the aftermath of one of the worst natural disasters ever known.

As soon as the Berg had touched down, Tony emerged from the cockpit and looked round at all of us. "You kids listen up," he told us, his hands planted squarely on his hips. "We're going to be resting here for a few hours, so go do whatever you want. But be back here by sundown and . . ."

"Why should we listen to him?" It was Mona who had spoken. "He'll probably fly us straight back to WICKED - unless we kill him first!" With that, she picked up the gun which Jackson had dropped when Teresa shot him with the Launcher grenade, her eyes filled with a madness that was becoming all too familiar. The madness of someone whose mind was being destroyed by the Flare. "Yes," she went on, an insane grin plastered across her face. "That's exactly what he and all his fuzzing friends deserve for what they did to us. I . . ." She broke off suddenly as the moment of madness passed, but we all knew this was only the start, that she was trapped in a downward spiral of insanity. And Yoko, who was sitting on one of the couches, humming tunelessly to herself, faced the same fate. As did Newt, wherever he was.

Harriet quickly prised the gun out of Mona's hand and tucked it into her belt. "Just a precaution," she explained. "I'm not taking the risk of you getting your hands on a weapon the next time you turn Crank on us. And you will," she added as Mona opened her mouth to protest. "You might seem fairly lucid at the moment, but you'll lapse again sooner or later. And, when that time comes, I want you as far away from a weapon as possible."

"How you gonna do that?" asked Clint. "We've got more than enough weapons now that three more of us are dead." He nodded towards the couch where the blanket-wrapped body of Jackson lay, the arm which had worked its way loose while Teresa, Indira, Sonya and I were moving him still hanging limp. "So how do you keep Mona from getting her shucking Crank hands on one?"

Tony looked at us all, a grim expression etched on his face. "Listen," he said. "I've seen what the Flare does to people, but I ain't seen anyone go downhill as fast as your friends. Not since the early days when the virus was first unleashed. I'm no expert, but, as I understand it, the Flare thrives on brain activity and WICKED have been stimulating your brains for years."

"Yes, to collect what they call killzone patterns," I said. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with a lot," Tony explained. "You've all been stimulated way more than most people, including those of you who are not immune. That'll be why Flossie, Bjorn and Jackson got so bad so fast. And it means Yoko and Mona only have a few days at most before they're past the Gone." He turned to Sonya, shaking his head as he did so. "I'm afraid it also means you and your brother are going to have a very short reunion," he added. "Better hope you find him quick."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" asked Louisa. "The Bliss, maybe?"

Tony laughed mirthlessly. "Sorry, ain't got none. And, even if I had a lifetime's supply of the stuff, it would only slow the virus down. Your friends would still pass the Gone; it would just take them longer to get there. It's a temporary fix, not a cure. Talking of which," he added, "I hope you kids realise that, by escaping before the blueprint was finalised, you effectively condemned six of you to death. Think you can live with yourselves? Knowing you could have saved your friends, but chose to . . .?"

"Shut up!" Mona shouted, cutting Tony off in mid-sentence. "If you're trying to persuade us to go back to WICKED so they can cure Yoko and me, you can fuzzing forget it! There's no cure and there's never gonna be one! So shut up before I shut you up for good!" She made to rush at Tony, forgetting in her madness that she couldn't possibly tackle him unarmed. It took three of us (Sarah, Victoria and Aris) to hold her back; even then, she put up quite a fight, struggling to break free from the kids who were restraining her, swearing and cursing all the while. Finally, though, Sarah and the others pinned her to the floor and held her there.

* * *

Mona soon came to her senses, but we all knew this was only temporary, that she was only going to get worse. And, from what Tony had said, she and Yoko were deteriorating rapidly; the stimulation they had received during the Trials was fuelling the virus which was destroying their brains. In a few days, they would no longer be human beings, just wild animals, grotesque parodies of the girls we knew. Mona, like Flossie, Bjorn and Jackson, was already beginning to lose it; her attempt to attack Tony was a sign that she was dangerously close to the Gone. And, though she had shown no outward signs of aggression as yet, there was little doubt that Yoko also had the Flare. Once the Keeper of the Runners for Group B, she had been reduced to a shadow of her former self, a mad girl who could do nothing but hum repetitively.

After a brief discussion, we agreed to leave a few people on the Berg to keep an eye on Yoko and Mona while the rest of us went outside to dispose of Jackson's body and to get some fresh air. However, finding someone who was willing to volunteer for this task proved easier said than done and Harriet eventually had to step in. "I'll be one of those who stays behind," she said, her hand moving towards the gun which she had tucked into her belt. The gun which she had taken from Mona. She then turned her attention to deciding who else should remain on the Berg, who else should be tasked with guarding the Cranks that Mona and Yoko were rapidly becoming. "Aris, Sonya and Louisa." She pointed to the respective owners of those names. "The rest of you, go on. We'll be all right."

As all but six of us prepared to exit the Berg, Teresa, Sarah, Indira and Cass carrying Jackson's body between them, Yoko broke off from her humming just long enough to utter a few words. "Stop it! Shut up!" She grabbed hold of her head, pressing her hands against her temples as though she was trying to force something out of her skull. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

"None of us said anything," I told her, though I knew it was doubtful I would be able to get through to her given her mental state.

"Not you, the demons." The voice of insanity coming from Yoko's mouth. "They're telling me to do things. They won't stop! I've been humming to try and drown them out, but they keep getting louder and louder! They're trying to control me - they want me to kill all of you! Stop them! You must stop them! They . . ." Yoko broke off and started humming once more, rocking back and forth, fighting a losing battle against the demons brought about by her Flare-addled mind.

* * *

As I said before, the landscape was dominated by the burnt forest, though Tony had managed to find a clearing that was large enough for the Berg to land. As we emerged, I noticed for the first time that, though much of what I could see still showed the after-effects of the fire which had rampaged through this area fourteen years ago, there were a few signs of fresh growth, islands of green in a sea of blackened trees, a sign that the world was recovering from the devastation the sun flares had inflicted. But what about the human race? Was there any hope for my species? Or had the decision to release the Flare virus doomed us to extinction? There were people, including most of our group, who were immune to the virus, but there were far more who were not immune. Which, since the Flare turned its victims into monsters whose only thought was to kill, meant the future of humanity was, at best, uncertain. At worst, there might come a day when the only people left in the world were Cranks.

I dismissed this gloomy scenario from my mind and joined the others as they gathered in a circle. Those carrying Jackson's body stepped into the centre of the circle and placed their burden on the ground; they were followed by Tony, who was carrying a can of gasoline, which he proceeded to pour all over the blanket-wrapped corpse. He then fished a box of matches out of his pocket and handed it to Teresa. "I think you should do the honours," he told her.

Teresa extracted one of the matches and struck it against the side of the box, causing it to light up in a tiny flame. Without saying a word, she tossed the burning match onto the blanket which Tony had just soaked in fuel, the blanket which covered Jackson's body. Seconds later, the fire had taken hold and was consuming the remains of the latest kid to die in the name of WICKED and their experiments. The latest, but not the last. There were still two - three if Newt was still alive - non-Immunes among WICKED's remaining subjects. And, now that we knew there was never going to be a cure, their fate was inevitable. Whether the Flare killed them directly, or they were put out of their misery like Flossie and Jackson, or they ended their own lives like Bjorn made little difference. There was nothing and no-one that could save them.

Which, I realised, meant the best we could hope for was that all the Immunes who had made it this far would survive. Clint, Frypan, Teresa and, possibly, Minho and Thomas from Group A. Aris, Cass, Emily, Harriet, Indira, Louisa, Martha, Sarah, Shelley, Sonya, Trix, Victoria and myself from Group B. Just eighteen of us. Eighteen out of the hundred-and-twenty kids WICKED had sent to the two Mazes which they, with the help of Thomas, Teresa, Aris and Rachel, had set up. And that was our best case scenario. It was more likely, given the state of the world, that we would end up losing some of those eighteen kids.

* * *

As Jackson's body continued to burn, we drifted away one by one, leaving Tony to watch the fire. I sat down on the ground, pulled out the workpad I'd found earlier and powered it up. I finished reading the memo about the decision to unleash the Flare virus, struggling to comprehend how this John Michael guy could have agreed to such a plan. Of course, he didn't know the Flare was going to turn into the horror it had become, but even so . . . Closing the memo, I checked out a few more of the files that weren't protected by passwords. Mostly stuff about the changed weather patterns following the sun flares, but there was also a file which described the effects of the Flare. Which I chose not to read since I'd already seen first-hand what the Flare did to its victims. Then I came across another memo, again sent by John Michael, with the subject heading _Immunes:_

 _Following extensive testing, it has been confirmed that less than 1% of the population are immune to the Flare virus. However, this handful of people represent our best chance of finding a cure for this devastating disease. We believe there may be fundamental differences in the brain structure of Immunes that enable them to function even when the Flare is deeply rooted inside them. If we can isolate those differences, we may be able to use them as the basis for a cure, or at least an effective treatment._

 _However, we cannot simply dissect the brains of everyone who is immune; our aim is to save lives, not waste them. Instead, we must gather together a large number of immune children and push them to their mental and physical limits in order to stimulate responses in their brains and collect the resulting patterns. This will no doubt shock some of you, but it is not our intention to harm these children in any way, merely to study them in the hope that one or more of them may provide the answers we seek. We already have the girl who arrived through the Flat Trans which connected our headquarters with our base in North Carolina before the latter was destroyed. She has been confirmed immune, but we need many more subjects if we are to proceed._

 _Therefore, effective immediately, I am issuing Executive Order #18. Agents will be sent to collect children who have been found to be immune to the Flare and bring them to our headquarters. In addition, a small number of children who are not immune will be chosen as control subjects. It is hoped that the parents or guardians of the selected children will recognize the need for personal sacrifices at this time of international crisis and give them up willingly. However, our agents are authorized to use force should their attempts to take the children meet with resistance._

When I read that last sentence, my breath caught in my throat. For a moment, it felt as though I was back in the closet with my brother and sister, listening as Jacques and Mason tried to "persuade" Mom to hand us over. Again I heard the gunshot, followed by the sound of something heavy falling against the door. The moment my siblings and I became orphans, our only surviving parent killed trying to protect us. That was when I was first introduced to WICKED.

WICKED is good? WICKED is bad, more like, though "bad" hardly begins to describe an organisation that would abduct kids, use them as lab rats, allow most of them to die. How could anything, even the search for a cure for the Flare, justify such cruelty? Especially now that we knew there was almost certainly never going to be a cure. But WICKED were determined to keep their experiments going at all costs and that meant we would never be safe from them as long as they existed.

So they had to be brought down. And the only way we could hope to do that was to do what Teresa wanted: get to Denver and join up with an anti-WICKED group.


	45. Chapter 44

**Chapter Forty-four**

We were back on board the Berg, heading for Denver, the city where Teresa hoped to make contact with an organisation that shared her ambition of eliminating WICKED before they could start a fresh round of Trials. Ever since she underwent the procedure to remove the Swipe and restore her memory, her attitude to WICKED had changed from being prepared to go along with whatever they asked of her to being determined to put a stop to their inhuman experiments. "I only wanted to save people from the Flare," she was saying as we all gathered together in the Berg's mid-section. "That's why I went along with them for so many years. I told myself that, no matter what they did to us, it was all going to be worth it in the end. WICKED would find the cure and things could get back to how they used to be before the virus was unleashed."

"But that's not how I feel now." She sighed, then continued. "I feel . . . conflicted. I dedicated my life to WICKED, but, since I got my memory back, I've been able to see them for what they are. They're fanatics, completely obsessed with finding their precious cure, no matter how great the cost. And they're prepared to start the Trials over with new subjects if they have to; they've already got people capturing Immunes for them."

"How do you know all this?" It was Frypan who asked this question; he was sitting on the couch directly opposite the easy chair in which Teresa sat, with Clint and Aris on either side of him. The only males in our group now that we'd lost Bjorn and Jackson. Unless we could find Thomas and Minho - I discounted Newt since he was probably well on his way to becoming a Crank by now - and convince them to join us. But we didn't even know if they were still alive.

"When I came round after the Swipe removal, I overheard one of the doctors saying something to another," Teresa replied. "They didn't realise I was awake or they would've changed the subject, or gone somewhere more private. I hadn't heard much, just enough for me to know what they were talking about was important. So I pretended I was still unconscious and listened to what they were saying. Stuff about the Trials and how they weren't much closer to completing their blueprint than they were at the start. So they were gonna keep going until they found what they were looking for, even if all of us . . ." She gestured round at the kids in the mid-section. ". . . had to be sacrificed. And, just in case that _still_ didn't lead to a cure, they'd made . . . arrangements for more Immunes to be brought to them."

"I think that's what got to me. The fact that WICKED weren't just prepared to treat us like lab rats, but would do the same to others. And that's when I realised they had to be stopped; otherwise they'd keep repeating the cycle over and over. Gathering Immunes, torturing them to stimulate their brains, letting them die. And for what? A shuck experiment that hasn't yielded the results the people behind it were hoping for and probably never will."

"And I helped with that experiment. I honestly thought it would work and, now that it hasn't . . ." Teresa's eyes filled with tears and she struggled to compose herself. "I can't change the past," she went on. "And I can't bring back all the kids we've lost. But I can make up for it by doing whatever I can to stop WICKED from wasting any more lives."

* * *

Teresa's speech got me thinking about what John Michael had written in the memo I'd found on the workpad. The one about collecting kids who were immune to the Flare and studying them in the hope that it would lead to a cure. According to this memo, the reason WICKED had done this was because they wanted "to save lives, not waste them", except wasting lives was precisely what they had done. Out of the dozens of kids they had used as human guinea pigs, only a handful were still alive; the rest had become the victims of a failed experiment. No matter how much WICKED tried to justify all these deaths as being part of the Variables, nothing altered the fact that their blueprint of the killzone, to use their term for the human brain, was nowhere near being completed. Even after more than a decade of research. And, in all probability, the breakthrough they were hoping for was never going to come.

Worse than that, WICKED were unable (or unwilling) to accept that their efforts were in vain. Which meant, if we ever ended up back in their clutches, we could look forward to being subjected to more and more extreme Variables as they pushed us to the limits of endurance. All in the name of completing their precious blueprint. And, when that didn't work and we all ended up dead, they'd just start over with new subjects. According to Teresa, Immunes were already being abducted and brought to their headquarters, though we had no way of knowing how long this had been going on. But we did know one thing.

WICKED had to be stopped.

* * *

By the time our little meeting broke up, we were agreed on our next course of action. On arriving in Denver, we would tell the authorities we were Immunes looking for a place to live where we wouldn't have to worry about being attacked by Cranks. Once we had been admitted into the city, we would blend in with the locals as best we could while we tried to make contact with an anti-WICKED group, hopefully without alerting the general population to the fact that we were fugitives from WICKED. In fact, Teresa said it would be best if we avoided being too open about our immunity, especially if there were people out there who were capturing our kind. A moment of carelessness from any of us and we could all end up back at the WICKED complex.

"Why would anyone want to sell Immunes to WICKED?" asked Emily, furrowing her brow.

"Because they're frightened," Teresa replied. "Don't forget, there's a lot of people out there who aren't immune. It's not just Yoko and Mona." She nodded towards the two girls; they were sitting apart from the rest of us, Yoko humming to herself again, Mona staring blankly ahead. "And naturally they're afraid of catching the Flare because they know what it will do to them. So they're desperate for a cure and they don't care how many people like us have to suffer before one is found. Also . . ."

"They hate us," said Victoria, concluding Teresa's last sentence for her. "Because they know we'll never get sick even if we have the fuzzing Flare virus rooted inside us. Did I ever tell you sticks how I ended up at WICKED?" I knew she had been one of the last kids from Group B to arrive at WICKED's headquarters - only Christie, Helen and Samantha had come later, the last two not arriving until after the Maze Trials had begun - but not how she came to be part of the Trials. Come to think of it, I didn't know that about most of the kids with me; even though we'd had our memories restored, it was something we didn't talk about.

"Well, I'll tell you," Victoria went on. "I was eleven years old. My parents and I had spent the last few years moving from place to place, trying to hide the fact that I was immune. They knew people would hate me because of it and they also knew WICKED were after kids like me; that's another reason we kept moving. But then someone found out about me - I don't know how - and they must've told WICKED because these people in suits turned up at our house one night. Except, it wasn't really our house; we'd just moved in because we'd found it empty. Anyway, they came to our house, saying they needed me to take part in an experiment. "What sort of experiment?" my dad wanted to know. They said it was to find a cure for the Flare and they hoped my parents would allow me to be a part of it, but my parents wouldn't let me go. That's when the people turned nasty, saying stuff about how there was no room for sentiment when there was a killer disease running rampant and, if my parents didn't agree to give me up, they'd shoot them and take me anyway. I knew then that I had to get away, even if it meant never seeing my parents again."

"My bedroom was at the back of the house, so I tied my sheets together and climbed out the window. I tried to run, but one of the people got me with a Launcher grenade and, by the time I recovered, I was on a Berg, being flown to the WICKED complex. I don't know what happened to my parents, but it's unlikely they're still alive." She sighed, then continued. "As soon as I arrived, I was told I had to call myself Victoria from now on. I said I'd rather keep my old name, but they quickly made it clear that wasn't an option. "We saved you from what's out there, you ungrateful Munie bitch!" they shouted at me. "The least you can do in return is accept your new name!" Then, when I still wouldn't change my name, they . . ."

At this point, Victoria trailed off, but I needed no-one to tell me what had happened next. The same thing which had happened to Flossie, Emily and however many other kids had tried to resist being renamed.

* * *

After we'd been flying for several hours, Tony brought the Berg down a few miles outside Denver. "This is as far as I can take you," he told us as he entered the mid-section. "From now on, you kids are on your own."

"Why can't you come with us?" asked Shelley, who was standing nearby with Martha and Clint beside her.

"Because," Tony replied, glaring round at all of us as though what he wanted to do right now was fly us straight back to WICKED, "I'm not immune and, after being around Yoko, Mona and the others, chances are I've caught the Flare. And Denver's a quarantine zone; the moment I try to enter the city, they'll identify me as a VCT - that's a Viral Contagion Threat - and haul my ass to the Crank Palace. Yoko and Mona too. And, even if you managed to sneak us past the checkpoint, there'd still be the Flare testers to worry about. They're pretty much what their name suggests, a sort of security force who randomly test people for the Flare. And, if they get a positive result, it's off to the Palace with you."

"What exactly is a Crank Palace?" I asked, recalling that Teresa had used those two words earlier. Like I said before, I vaguely remembered hearing the term when I was younger, but not what it meant.

In reply, Tony told us about how, a year or so after the Flare was unleashed, the Crank Palaces had been set up to give the infected one last chance to live a normal life before they passed the Gone, at which point they would be shipped out to areas which had been turned into wastelands by the solar flares and dumped there to die. It was meant to be a humane solution to the problem of what to do with a large number of people infected with a degenerative brain disease. At least that was the theory. In practice, the Crank Palaces had quickly become notorious for lawlessness; those sent there, knowing no punishment could be worse than the fate which awaited them, began to indulge in some of the worst kinds of criminal behaviour. Vandalism, assault and even murder were commonplace and nothing was ever done to stop it. Immunes were employed to act as guards, but they were more concerned with making sure the Cranks stayed behind the barricades which surrounded each Palace than stopping them from trashing the places which were meant to be their homes.

"So they're just left there to fight among themselves?" I asked, thinking it was a wonder any Cranks survived long enough to pass the Gone if the Palaces were as bad as Tony said. And that was the sort of place Flossie, Bjorn and Jackson would have been sent to had they not been dead already. Not to mention that there was still a strong probability of Yoko and Mona (and Newt if he was still alive) becoming the latest residents of the Crank Palace near Denver.

"That about sums it up. Like I said, you can't punish someone who's about to descend into madness, so . . ." Tony shook his head grimly. "About the only thing which doesn't happen in a Crank Palace is rape and that's only because all male Cranks are chemically castrated before being sent there. Can't risk them getting any of the females pregnant. Besides, how long do you think a newborn baby would last in such a place?"

Not very long, I thought to myself. Based on what I knew about Cranks, it was unlikely that a woman afflicted with the Flare would have any kind of mothering instinct left; more likely, she would see her baby as a source of food. Perhaps, if she was in the early stages, she might attempt to raise the child, but there would still be the matter of keeping it safe from other Cranks. Not to mention that she herself would ultimately become a danger to her offspring as the Flare virus turned her from a rational human being to a creature driven by base animal instincts. So it was best for all concerned if the Cranks in the Palaces were prevented from breeding, though this didn't rule out the possibility that a Crank woman might give birth to a child conceived before she was infected. Unless all newly infected females of child-bearing age were screened for pregnancy before being sent to the Palaces. I did not allow myself to think about what would happen if . . .

Just then, Indira, who had been looking troubled from the moment Tony brought up the subject of Cranks breeding - or rather the steps that were being taken to make sure they couldn't - turned and walked out of the mid-section without saying a word to anyone. Sensing that she needed a friend, I followed her.

* * *

I found her in the room where I had checked out the workpad, sitting on the floor. She had her back to the door, so I couldn't see her face, but I could clearly hear the sniffling sounds she was making. I knelt down beside her, touched her on the shoulder. "Indira?" I ventured. "Indira, what's wrong?" It wasn't like her to get upset for no reason, so I quickly racked my brain for anything that might possibly be troubling her. "Is this about Flossie?" The first thing I could think of that might explain Indira's behaviour. "Because, if it is, you should try to remember that you saved her from becoming . . . one of them." I couldn't bring myself to say the words "a Crank", not when they related to someone who had been one of my best friends.

"No, it's not about her." Indira turned and looked at me out of dark eyes that were brimming with tears. "Jenny," she said, "I haven't told any of the others yet, but . . ." A pause followed before she added: "I'm going to have a baby."

I didn't know what to say. How, I wondered, had this happened? As far as I knew, Indira had never done the necessary deed with either Aris or any of the boys from Group A, unless it had happened during the month I'd spent in that suite of plainly furnished rooms. The month during which I had been led to believe I was the only subject left alive. Certainly that was the only time she could possibly have conceived, but who was the father? And why was she telling me and not him? Perhaps it was because the boy in question was not currently part of our group, which left five possible candidates, none of whom struck me as very likely. Then again, there were the words that had been tattooed on Indira's neck a few days before the Scorch Trials began. _Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject B25. The Mother._ Could that have something to do with this?

"How long have you known?" I asked finally, reaching out to touch her on the arm.

"Since that rat-faced stick Janson debriefed me. I've been trying to find the right moment to tell everyone, but . . ." She sighed and looked down at her hands for a few moments before asking: "When WICKED brought us back from the Scorch, what did they do to you?"

In reply, I explained that I had woken to the news that Cranks had broken into the WICKED complex and killed all the survivors of the Scorch Trials apart from myself. I talked about being taken to the suite that had been my home for the next month and left there, about being deprived of almost all visual stimuli, leaving me with no means of distracting myself from my grief. Apart from when doctors came to test me, supposedly to see how well I was responding to the "cure" I'd been given, the "cure" which had turned out to be part of the test I'd been subjected to as part of Phase Three. I'd often wondered what WICKED had been doing to the others during that time, but I'd never asked any of them and none of them had volunteered the information.

Now, however, Indira began to tell me what had happened to her during Phase Three. "I woke up to find a man looking down at me. There was something about him I didn't like; I could tell from the way he was looking at me that he . . . wanted me. Then, he told me to undress and lie on the bed." Tears began to trace their way down her cheeks, but she forced herself to continue. "I knew what he wanted to do and I wanted to resist, but . . . It was like a switch had flipped inside me. I couldn't control my own body; I did what he wanted, then I lay there and let him . . ." That was as far as she got before she, overwhelmed by the ordeal she was reliving, broke down sobbing. I wrapped my arms around her, comforting her as best I could, feeling a burning anger as I thought of what had been done to her. And something told me it hadn't been a one-off, that she had received further visits from this man.

And, thanks to him, she was pregnant; she was going to become _The Mother_ like her tattoo said. Had WICKED been planning to do this to her all along? And, if we hadn't escaped, what would they have done to her and her unborn child? Would she have been allowed to carry it to term and, if so, would she then have been forced to watch as they did unspeakable things to the child in the name of collecting more killzone patterns? I could not begin to answer any of those questions, but I did know one thing.

This gave us another reason to bring WICKED down.


	46. Chapter 45

**Chapter Forty-five**

Indira and I agreed not to tell the others what she had just told me, at least for the time being. But we both knew that couldn't last; sooner or later, someone would notice that she was putting on weight and it wouldn't take them long to figure out why. And then there would be questions about how it had happened and who the father was. In the meantime, though, we would say nothing until we had to, just carry on as before. All the same, I couldn't help feeling a surge of anger towards WICKED in general and this guy in particular, not to mention whoever had devised this particular Variable. The idea of a seventeen-year-old girl being mind-controlled into coupling with a man was repugnant enough, but when it was my best friend . . .

If I ever got my hands on this bastard, I would make him pay for what he had done. But, since he was currently more than 2000 miles away, there wasn't much I could do except assure Indira that she wasn't to blame for what had happened. It was all WICKED's doing, another of their sadistic Variables, a test devised for the sole purpose of collecting brain patterns and using them to build the blueprint that was supposed to lead to a cure for the Flare. And, from what Teresa had said, they were prepared to start over with a fresh batch of subjects if all the tests they'd subjected us to over the years failed to yield the results they were looking for.

"Look at it this way," I told Indira. "This gives us another reason to put an end to WICKED. Because, unless they're stopped, they'll take your child from you and use it as one of their human lab rats. But we won't let them. We're going to Denver to join up with those anti-WICKED people Teresa mentioned."

"She's certainly changed her tune," Indira said, a faint trace of a smile on her face. "Remember when she kept insisting that WICKED were good?"

I nodded, recalling what Teresa had told us about how she had believed WICKED's methods were justified because all the suffering, all the cruelty, all the deaths would ultimately lead to a cure. Only things hadn't worked out that way and Teresa, realising the cause she had supported for most of her life had been futile, had resolved to make up for her past mistakes. Which meant doing whatever she could to put a stop to WICKED's cruel experiments. It was too late to help the kids we'd already lost, too late to prevent Mona, Newt and Yoko from catching the Flare. But it wasn't too late for the remaining Immunes in our group, nor the Immunes Teresa hoped to help. Provided we could make contact with an anti-WICKED group and provided they were in a position to actually do something. If they weren't . . .

Before I could think about what that might mean, the door opened and Teresa appeared. "What's keeping you two?" she asked, looking down at Indira and me. "Everyone else is out already."

Indira pulled herself to her feet. "Everyone?"

"All but Mona and Yoko. They've made some sort of . . . agreement with Tony, or at least Mona has. The way Yoko is right now . . ." Teresa shook her head, silently reminding us that Yoko had already lost it. Not that we needed reminding. "Anyway, come on," Teresa said. "We've got to start right away if we want to be in Denver by tonight."

* * *

Indira and Teresa exited the Berg without so much as a glance at Yoko and Mona. But, before beginning my descent of the ramp, I looked back to see Yoko sitting on a nearby couch, her head in her hands, humming to herself in a vain attempt to drown out her non-existent demons. Mona sat on the floor beside her, but, though she was within touching distance of Yoko, she made no attempt to reach out and comfort her. Because she knew it would be no use? Or because the Flare had robbed her of the ability to feel compassion and empathy? Either way, I did not have long to ponder this question before Yoko broke off from her humming and looked straight at me. Her eyes were glazed with madness, but I could see a faint trace of the real Yoko, the girl who had been the Keeper of the Runners for Group B, struggling to break through.

"Yoko?" I ventured, foolishly hoping that maybe it wasn't too late, that she was not as far gone as she appeared. Certainly, of the non-Immunes among us, she'd been the last to develop symptoms. Seconds later, however, she spoke and her words left me in no doubt that, while she wasn't quite past the Gone, she had pretty much lost her grip on reality.

"We're gonna destroy the demons." An insane grin played across Yoko's face, the grin of someone who, though physically present, was mentally no longer there. "They want us all dead, but we'll stop them, me and her." She nodded towards Mona. "And the man with the flying machine's gonna help us." Her. The man with the flying machine. Yoko no longer remembered Mona and Tony's names, the Flare having already affected the areas of her brain that were dedicated to memory. I recalled how, after she first collapsed, she'd asked who we all were and where we were, as though she could no longer remember this information. It had been Cass who attempted to answer her, not that it had made much difference; Yoko's memory, only recently restored with the removal of her Swipe, was already shot. And it wouldn't be long before the Flare consumed her mind completely.

I turned my back on Yoko and Mona. They were beyond anyone's help now, so all I could do was leave them in the Berg and join the rest of our group as they assembled on the ground outside the huge craft. As I hurried down the ramp without looking back, I heard Yoko start humming again.

* * *

As soon as I had joined the others, who were gathered a short distance from the Berg, the ramp I'd run down began to close with an air of finality; something told me I was the last person who would ever disembark from this Berg. I watched as the cargo door slowly slid upwards, sealing Yoko, Mona and Tony - I hadn't seen the latter, but I knew he must be at the Berg's controls - inside. Seconds later, the Berg's thrusters ignited and, with a tremendous roar of engines, it began to lift off, its landing gear retracting as it did so. Sixteen pairs of eyes watched as the huge craft rapidly gained height, then zoomed away, heading for . . . Where was it heading? Certainly not to Denver; nor was it heading back the way we had come, back to the WICKED complex. So where _was_ the Berg flying to? I turned to the kids who were nearest to me, but the expressions on their faces told me they had no more idea than I did.

I looked up at the Berg, now almost out of sight, wondering what was going through the minds of those on board. There was little doubt in my mind that we would never see Yoko and Mona again, though the fact they both had the Flare meant they were already lost to us. Even so, I couldn't help picturing them inside the Berg, heading towards wherever Tony had agreed to take them. Not that it made much difference where they went; they were doomed and had been from the moment they became infected. Doomed because, unlike the sixteen of us, they were not immune.

I was just about to avert my gaze from the Berg when it happened. The craft exploded in a fireball that produced a massive cloud of flames and smoke, an inferno which no-one could possibly survive if they were caught in the middle of it. "Yoko," I heard myself saying, my eyes drawn inexorably to a cloud which, unlike the fluffy white clouds around it, was an ominous black tinged with orange. "Mona. Tony." They must be part of that cloud, I realised, their bodies consumed in the explosion, nothing but dust.

"We're gonna destroy the demons."

Yoko's words echoed in my mind. She had believed in these "demons"; the mental disturbances brought about by the Flare meant that, as far as she was concerned, they were real. And she'd also believed she, Tony and Mona were going to destroy them, by . . . It suddenly hit me that the explosion was no accident, that someone, most likely Tony, must have activated some kind of self-destruct mechanism on the Berg, blowing the craft up with Yoko, Mona and himself on board. That meant all the non-Immunes among us were dead now, with the possible exception of Newt, but we still didn't know what had happened to him, Thomas and Minho. Based on what I'd seen with Flossie, Bjorn, Jackson, Mona and Yoko, however, I didn't hold out much hope of him keeping it together for more than a few days at most. Which meant it might be best to forget about him and concentrate on Minho and Thomas.

The stunned silence which had followed the explosion was presently broken by Teresa. "Come on," she said, turning away from the cloud that used to be the Berg. "We need to get going; we can't hang around here all day." None of us questioned this, even though we had lost two more members of our group only moments ago; we just formed into a line behind Teresa and prepared to trek over the mountains to Denver. Moving on. Without Yoko and Mona.

* * *

As we made our way towards Denver, I found myself thinking about how most of my life had been spent as a human lab rat, a subject in an experiment. I hadn't known freedom since I was six years old; for over a decade, WICKED had controlled my life and the lives of dozens of other kids. Everything that had happened to us, every Variable that was thrown our way had been orchestrated to produce the killzone patterns they needed. And it seemed there was no limit to what they were prepared to do to us. I glanced at Indira, who was walking beside me, and thought of how she was now carrying the child of a WICKED employee, the result of one of the tests they had devised.

"I'll kill him if I ever find him," I muttered to myself. Not that there was much chance of that; he was a couple of thousand miles away and I didn't even know what he looked like. But the thought of what he had done to my friend made me so angry that, if I ever found myself face-to-face with him, I was quite prepared to do what I had said. And, while I was at it, I would make sure to hit him in a part of his anatomy which is exclusive to males.

"Who are you going to kill?" I heard Emily ask from behind Indira and myself.

"A man who was part of Indira's Phase Three," I replied without looking round. I didn't go into any more detail than that. Indira's pregnancy and the circumstances behind it were not yet common knowledge and, until the time was right, that was the way it should stay. Fortunately, Emily did not have any follow-up questions; if she had, it would have been hard to answer them without revealing information Indira and I weren't ready to share with the rest of the group.

We continued walking, making our way across a landscape that was recovering from the devastation unleashed by the solar flares. Large patches of dead vegetation covered the slopes of the Rockies, the name, I recalled, of the mountain range where Denver was located, but there were also areas where plants were beginning to grow again. The place where we'd cremated Jackson had been the same. Maybe, I thought to myself, there would come a day when no trace of the flares remained, when even areas like the Scorch were no longer barren wastelands. Of course, it would take many years, but seeing the signs of new growth around me gave me hope that the world was not yet lost.

If only I could say the same about the human race. But, though there were people who were immune to the Flare, including the sixteen of us, the number of non-Immunes was far greater and, from what Victoria had said, they regarded those of us who were immune with contempt, resentful of the fact that the virus couldn't harm us. Probably the only reason they didn't kill us was because they needed us for tasks such as guarding Crank Palaces or being used as subjects in WICKED's experiments. And, with every day that passed, more and more of those who were not immune caught the Flare, which meant more and more Cranks. If things kept going the way they were, the Cranks could be all that was left of humanity and, since the Flare was invariably fatal, it wouldn't be long before even they were gone.

I was so busy thinking about the prospect of the human race being driven to extinction that it took me a while to notice that those in front of me had stopped walking and were staring at an enormous wall.

* * *

"Ladies, and the three gentlemen, welcome to Denver!"

It was Teresa who said this, gesturing towards the barrier which towered in front of us. Like the walls in the Maze, only without all the ivy. Which meant climbing it was out of the question. Not that the ivy had made much difference back in the Glade; if anyone who tried to climb the walls got above twenty-five feet or thereabouts, they would suddenly decide the climb was impossible and descend to the ground. I'd never done any wall-scaling myself, but I'd seen a few of the other girls in Group B make the attempt. The result was always the same; even with plenty of ivy above her, the girl invariably gave up and climbed back down. And I was willing to bet the same had been true of the boys in Group A. Some kind of fail-safe, I guessed, a part of our brain implants that kicked in if anyone climbed too high up the walls, distorting the senses and making the climber think they couldn't go any higher

Anyway, this wall had obviously been designed so that there was no way anyone could even attempt to climb it. Its surface was perfectly smooth, with no sign of any handholds, and it was so tall that, no matter how far we craned our necks, we couldn't see the top. And, even if we'd had a grappling rope long enough, any attempt to use it would surely be detected by whatever hi-tech security system this place had. Not to mention that getting past that would still leave us with the problem of climbing down the other side. Indira and I exchanged glances, our expressions mirroring each other. We'd known they took security seriously in Denver because of the need to keep the Flare out of the city, but neither of us had imagined anything like this. Nor, I suspected, had most of the others.

"So what do we do now?" asked Frypan. "Walk up to the front door and ask to be let in?" He gestured towards the massive iron doors which were set into the wall; needless to say, they were shut tight and it look as though it would be impossible to open them from the outside.

"Yes, I think that's exactly what we'll do," said Teresa. With that, she began to walk towards the doors as though trying to get into a fortified city was something she did on a regular basis. Everyone else followed her, not that there was much alternative apart from hanging around here for the rest of our lives.

* * *

As soon as we reached the doors, a buzzer sounded and a woman's voice told us to "state our names and our business". She didn't ask us, she told us, her tone making it clear that she wouldn't even consider letting us in unless we did as we'd been instructed. But what should we say? If we gave the names WICKED had chosen for us, this woman could alert someone and our escape could end with us being sent back where we had come from. Which was the last thing any of us wanted.

Teresa elected to speak for all of us. "My name's Deedee Collins." I knew Teresa had been called Deedee before she came to WICKED, but I had no idea if Collins was her original surname or one she'd made up on the spot. "I'm part of a group of sixteen Immunes," Teresa went on. "We're looking to settle someplace where we can be safe from Cranks and we heard about the precautions you've taken against the Flare. So we flew here from Alaska, but we lost our Berg and had to walk the rest of the way." Her last sentence was the truth, but not the whole truth; she left out the parts about us escaping from WICKED and Tony, Mona and Yoko blowing themselves up.

"Do you have any official documentation?"

"No, but everything I've said is true. So you can either let us in or leave us outside, where we'll be prey for any Cranks who happen to be passing." Teresa stepped back from the doors and waited for the unseen woman to reply.

After what felt like hours, we heard a series of clicks, followed by a thunk, then a squealing sound as one of the doors began to open, revealing a narrow alley which ended at another set of doors. These doors were also set into a massive wall, but, unlike the first doors, they looked modern and there were several screens and panels next to them. As Teresa led us through the outer doors, then up the alley, I felt my heart pounding in my chest, knowing our luck could run out at any moment. We'd made it past one lot of doors, but would we be allowed to come any further or was this as far as we were going to get? Looking at the complex screens and panels on the wall in front of me, I was afraid it would be the latter. Surely even Teresa's hacking skills would be no match for this place's security system.

At length, the woman spoke again. "We can't let you in without first testing you for infection, especially since you have no papers. Please step up to the panel to your right."

We exchanged glances, all sixteen of us, before Victoria did as the woman had instructed and stood in front of the panel, which slid open to reveal a mechanical arm with what looked like eye sockets at the end. Victoria leaned forward, aligning her eyes with the sockets; a thin wire appeared and pricked her in the neck. Several hissing and clicking noises followed, before the wire retracted, allowing Victoria to step away. The panel then rotated back into the wall, taking the arm with it, as another arm identical to the first appeared.

"Next," said the woman.

This time, it was Teresa who stepped up to the device and had her neck pricked. More hissing and clicking, followed by the wire retracting and the appearance of a third mechanical arm with a third set of eye sockets. Or was it the same one each time? Either way, this ritual was repeated until all of us had looked into the device and all our necks had been pricked with the wire. When it came to my turn, I found that I hardly had time to notice the prick. A few flashes of light and colour, followed by a puff of air that made me close my eyes for a couple of seconds and it was over. I stepped away from the device and watched as the last few kids (Emily, Louisa, Martha and Clint) were tested. Once that was done, the woman launched into some spiel about us being "cleared of VCT and confirmed immune", adding that, while people like us had many opportunities in Denver, we shouldn't be too open about our immunity. "Everyone here is healthy and virus-free, but there are many who still don't take kindly to Immunes," she explained. That marked the end of what was probably the closest we were going to get to a welcome speech.

A loud beep heralded the opening of the second set of doors, which led to a metal hallway with yet more doors at the end. The entrance, it turned out, to something the woman refered to as "the detector"; you won't be surprised to learn that we all had to pass through this device. That, however, was the end of the screening process. When we emerged from the detector, we found ourselves in a vast glass-ceilinged space filled with bustling crowds of people, most of whom were either wearing masks or clutching rags to their mouths. I couldn't explain it, but there was something about them that made me uneasy.


	47. Chapter 46

**Chapter Forty-six**

"Anyone get the feeling this place ain't exactly welcoming?"

It was Frypan who asked this somewhat rhetorical question as we made our way through what I recognised as a mall, a large collection of shops and other businesses under one roof. There was a mall in Chicago where Mom sometimes took my siblings and me in the days before WICKED stole us, only it was much smaller than the one I was in now. This mall, according to the orientation map on the wall next to the door through which we'd entered, ran all the way round the perimeter wall; we were in what the map referred to as the "West Zone".

Anyway, we were walking through the mall, looking for the nearest exit, and we were attracting more than a few suspicious stares from passers-by. Mainly because, being in a group of sixteen, we stood out from the locals, most of whom were either alone or in pairs; the largest group I'd seen consisted of a couple and their two sons, all of whom wore surgical masks. Talking of surgical masks, the fact that we weren't wearing any also marked us as outsiders, though so far no-one had challenged us. In fact, no-one had spoken to us at all, not that this seemed to be all that unusual around here. People were going out of their way to avoid coming into contact with each other, no doubt out of fear of catching the Flare; for all the precautions they took around here, there was no way of keeping an airborne virus out of a city completely. And there was always the risk that a person who was infected but showing no symptoms could unwittingly spread the Flare to others who were not immune.

As Immunes, we didn't have to worry about transmitting the virus; not only were we able to resist its effects, it lay completely dormant inside us. But, while this should have been a blessing, it gave the non-Immunes another reason to treat us like dirt. Of course, these people had no way of knowing if we were immune or not, but I had an uneasy feeling that some of them at least suspected us. Perhaps, I thought, we should have split into smaller groups to make ourselves less conspicuous, but we'd decided to stick together until we got out of here. As for what we were going to do once we were out on the streets of Denver, we would cross that bridge when we came to it.

* * *

We made it to the exit without incident, emerging in a busy high street. There were people everywhere, most of them taking great pains to keep their mouths and noses covered. A number of red-shirted men and women in gas masks moved among the crowds, all of them carrying a weapon in one hand and what looked like a portable version of the viral testing device in the other. I guessed these must be the Flare testers Tony had mentioned, though so far I hadn't actually seen them test anyone. But I had a feeling refusing to submit to a test would be a bad idea; the people in the red shirts looked like they meant business.

Apart from the presence of the Flare testers, not to mention the fact that hardly anyone apart from us had their mouths and noses uncovered, this might have been an ordinary street scene in an ordinary city. Much of what I could see around me - the huge skyscrapers, the holographic advertising, the crowds of people - reminded me of my childhood in Chicago. There were even several cop machines, robotic police vehicles armed with guns, patrolling the streets. But this seemingly ordinary street in a seemingly ordinary city gave off an oppressive air, a feeling that everyone was afraid of everyone else, of catching the Flare if they were not immune, of being verbally or even physically abused if they were. And, just like in the mall, the locals were looking at us as though they were suspicious of us. I was beginning to think coming here had been a bad idea, but Teresa had insisted that we had to go to Denver and here we were.

"Who are they?"

The "they" Emily was referring to were a fair-haired man and an East Asian woman, both about thirty years old, who were walking towards our group. I tensed, not knowing what these people wanted, but fearing that whatever it was meant bad news for us. Of course, they probably wouldn't try anything in the middle of a crowded street, not to mention that there were sixteen of us and only two of them. All the same, I couldn't help wondering if, rather than hanging around outside the mall, we should have tried to blend in with the crowds. But, before I had time to think about it, the two strangers drew level with us. The woman was the first to speak.

"You're the Immunes, aren't you? The ones who just entered the city?"

"How did you know that?" There was a note of suspicion in Harriet's voice as she answered the woman's question with one of her own.

"Coral informed us of your arrival." This time, it was the man who spoke. I guessed Coral was the name of the unseen woman who'd screened us for the Flare, but why would she have told these people about us? Could she be using her job to find Immunes to sell to WICKED? If she was, the man and his companion were almost certainly in on it. "Anyway," the man went on, "you'd better come with us; it's not safe on the streets."

"But are we any safer with you?" asked Aris. At this, we all exchanged glances, the expressions on our faces mirroring each other. Trusting these people could be risky, especially after what Teresa had said about what was happening to Immunes in the world beyond the WICKED complex. On the other hand, we'd come to Denver to try and put a stop to all that, so having at least two of the locals on our side could be useful. If they didn't then turn round and sell us back to WICKED anyway.

"I'm afraid you don't have much choice," said the man. "It's either trust us or stay out on the streets to get picked up by bounty hunters. And they'll be pretty keen on getting hold of sixteen of you at once."

* * *

Having no option but to go along with these people we'd only just met, we followed them into a side-street where a battered minibus was parked. Still somewhat wary, we climbed in; with a little squeezing, there was just enough room in the back for all of us. The man then climbed into the front passenger seat, as the woman took her place behind the wheel and turned the ignition. The bus shuddered into life and began to wend its way through the backstreets of Denver.

The further we got from the perimeter wall, the more rundown everything became; many buildings we passed looked like they had been neglected for years, apart from having posters plastered all over them. It was hard to make out what these posters said because almost all of them were torn and/or covered in graffiti, but they mostly seemed to be warning people about the Flare. In addition, there were several which showed a close-up of a middle-aged woman, the words _CHANCELLOR PAIGE LOVES YOU_ printed across the bottom in capital letters. These posters had also been vandalised; people had given the woman accessories such as devil horns, moustaches, beards, spectacles and pirates' eye patches, or had painted large X's over her face. On one, the words _LOVES YOU_ had been changed to _IS A BITCH_. Others contained much worse obscenities, which I won't repeat.

"Who's Chancellor Paige?" I wondered out loud. There was something familiar about the name, the Paige part of it, though I couldn't quite place it. And it didn't help that the posters had been doctored to the point where it was almost impossible to tell what the woman looked like.

Teresa, sitting directly in front of me, turned round. "You must mean Ava Paige," she told me, glancing out the window as we passed yet another graffiti-covered poster of the woman in question. "She's in charge of WICKED," Teresa went on, turning back to me. "Or at least she has been since the Purge . . ." She paused at this point, no doubt recalling how she, along with Thomas, Rachel and Aris, had once had to kill several WICKED personnel who had become infected with the Flare. "She's the one who gave the order, then she took over Anderson's position. And, unless those posters are out of date, I'm guessing she's still the Chancellor."

I knew I recognised the name Paige and, as Teresa talked, I remembered where I recognised it from. Ava Paige had been the name of a doctor I encountered shortly after I arrived at the WICKED complex; the caption on the posters had stirred a long-forgotten memory in my mind. _CHANCELLOR PAIGE LOVES YOU._ Though, judging by the way the posters had been defaced, the feeling was not mutual as far as the inhabitants of Denver were concerned.

* * *

Eventually, we drew up outside an apartment building that, like its neighbours, looked as though it had seen better days. The man and woman got out of the bus, then hurried round to open up the back. "Come on," the woman said in a whisper. "I don't think anyone saw us, but we've got to be careful, especially with so many of you."

Sensing the urgency in the woman's tone, we climbed off the bus to join her and her companion. The pair - I couldn't tell precisely what the relationship between them was, but I didn't think they were a couple and they certainly weren't blood relatives - led us to a door that had once been painted blue. Now, however, only a few flakes of paint remained, exposing the bare wood, much of which was rotten. The woman knocked on the door twice, paused, then knocked twice more. Another pause, followed by a man's voice coming from inside the building. "Who's out there? Are you with the Right Arm? 'Cause, if you ain't . . ."

"Earl, it's us," said the man. "Peter and Ningju. We brought those kids who turned up today. The Immunes."

A key rattled in a lock, a bolt scraped as it was drawn back and the door was pushed open to reveal a middle-aged man with dark skin, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, his head completely bald. He looked at each of us in turn, then turned to our escorts, whose names had just been revealed as Peter and Ningju; according to Peter, this guy was called Earl. "You never said there was sixteen of them!" he said, shooting an accusing look in Peter's direction.

Ningju came to her companion's defence. "We didn't know that ourselves. All Coral told us was that some kids had passed through her checkpoint and all of them were immune. So we decided we'd better get them here before the bounty hunters found them. You know how bad things have gotten lately. Immunes disappearing, the Flare spreading all over the city. But I don't have time to argue right now, so I suggest you let them in. Unless you'd rather let them take their chances out there."

"No, of course not," Earl said, shaking his head as if to dismiss Ningju's last suggestion. "I was surprised, is all." He smiled for the first time since opening the door, revealing white teeth that contrasted with his dark skin. "Come on in. Make yourselves at home."

* * *

Earl led us into a communal hallway, where nine people were waiting. An older woman, probably in her mid seventies, with collar-length grey hair. Another woman, this one in her thirties, who wore her light brown hair in a ponytail. A dark-haired man in his early twenties, who stood next to a blonde woman of around the same age; her swollen stomach told me she was pregnant, prompting me to exchange a brief look with Indira. Two youths in their late teens, one with the same olive skintone as Aris, the other fair-skinned and auburn-haired. A boy of about ten, who bore a close resemblance to the second of the three women. Two small children, a fair-haired girl clutching a plush elephant and a dark-skinned boy whose head was a mass of tight black curls, neither of whom could have been more than three years old. The same age I was when the solar flares struck.

A round of introductions followed, courtesy of Ningju. "You've already met Earl," she told us, pointing to the man who had answered the door. "This is Mandy," she added, referring to the oldest of the three women. "That's Tariq." The olive-skinned boy. "Kathryn and her son, Duane." The thirty-something woman and the pre-teen boy. "Bradley." The second of the two teenaged boys. "Jason and Olivia." The young couple. "Sophie." The little girl with the plush elephant. Last of all, Ningju pointed to the little boy. "And this is Luke." The child looked up at the sound of his name, then stuck his thumb in his mouth and started sucking it.

"All these people are Immunes we've saved from the bounty hunters," Peter explained. "We're part of an organisation called the Right Arm who are dedicated to bringing WICKED down and making sure they can't start the Trials again."

Hearing this, Teresa spoke up. "Did you say you're some sort of anti-WICKED group?"

"What do you know about WICKED?" It was Tariq who replied, even though Teresa had directed her question towards Peter.

"I was part of the original Trials and so were all the other kids who came with me, but we escaped." With that, Teresa began to explain everything that had happened from the moment she woke up after having her Swipe removed to our arrival in Denver. "We came here hoping to find people like this Right Arm," she said. "People who wanted to put an end to WICKED and their experiments. But that's not all. Those boys I mentioned: Minho, Newt and Thomas. I was wondering if they might have found their way here as well." She gave Ningju and Peter a quick description of the boys who were possibly the only members of Group A left apart from Frypan, Clint and herself.

Peter shook his head. "But we will have some of our guys keep an eye out," he added. "At least for Minho and Thomas - I doubt Newt's going to make it past the Flare testers - and we'll make sure they're given the same message I'm about to give you . . ." He paused, clearing his throat. "First of all, don't believe any of that crap about this city being virus-free. The Flare's been running rampant round here for years; a lot of people, high-ranking officials mostly, are using the Bliss to try and hide the fact that they're infected. They usually get caught by the Flare testers sooner or later and shipped out to the Crank Palace, but the virus still keeps spreading. And then there's that business with the Immunes. They've been disappearing; the number of Immunes in Denver is half what it was six months ago and the same is true of other cities. We know some have been taken by bounty hunters, but a lot of them have vanished without trace. And no-one knows what's happening to them."

"I do," said Teresa. "They're being sold to WICKED so that the Trials can start over. And I want to put a stop to it. I've already let one lot of people suffer in the search for a shuck cure that'll probably never be found and I'm not gonna let anyone else go through that. So, if you're out to shut WICKED down, I'm in."

Peter and Ningju exchanged glances. "In that case, there's someone you ought to meet," said Peter, addressing Teresa. "I take it you're the leader of these kids."

"Actually, Harriet is," Teresa replied. "And Minho, if he's still alive. But I did organise the escape from WICKED, so I guess that qualifies me as a leader of sorts."

Apparently, being a "leader of sorts" was good enough for Peter and Ningju because, within minutes, they had left, taking Teresa with them.

* * *

While we were waiting for Ningju, Peter and Teresa to get back from wherever they had gone, we spent our time getting to know our fellow Immunes and finding out more about the Right Arm. According to Earl, they had people in every surviving city or town in North America, with Denver as their main base of operations. For almost a decade, they had been working towards their goal of bringing WICKED down, but a lack of vital resources and inside information had so far prevented them from taking action. And it didn't help that with every day, every week, every month, every year that passed more and more people became infected with the Flare. Which meant more and more Cranks to worry about.

"Is it possible that a cure might be found one day?" I asked Olivia as Indira and I sat round the kitchen table in the apartment which she and Jason shared. When Peter and Ningju (along with Teresa) returned, our group would be given their own apartments; in the meantime, we were mucking in with Earl and the others. Already, Frypan, Clint and Aris had started hanging out with Tariq and Bradley, with Duane tagging along. Not that the older boys seemed to have any objections; I'd heard Clint say the kid reminded him of Chuck, the boy who'd been killed just before Group A were "rescued" from their Maze. I hoped Duane would be spared a similar fate, but, with the state the world was in, I knew there were no guarantees of that.

Anyway, Olivia shook her head in reply to my question. "I doubt it. WICKED have been looking for thirteen years and they've come up with nothing. And, even if there is a cure out there, it'll be too late by the time they make the breakthrough. The Flare's completely out of control. I don't know what sort of world my child will be born into." She placed her hand on her enlarged belly. "Or even if it will be born at all," she added, shaking her head once more.

"I know how you feel," said Indira. "Because I'm pregnant too. And, before you ask who the father is, it's not Frypan, or Clint, or Aris. In fact, I'd rather not talk about him."

"Have you told the rest of your group?"

Indira shook her head. "You're the first person I've told apart from Jenny."

"Well, you ought to tell Mandy at least," said Olivia. "She used to be a midwife, so she knows about these things. But you don't have to tell anyone else until you're ready."

* * *

Leaving Indira and Olivia to talk among themselves, I stepped out into the corridor, which was empty apart from the little girl, who was sitting on the floor, holding her toy elephant in her arms. Deciding I would like to get to know her better, I crouched down beside her. "Hi."

She looked up at me out of her light blue eyes. "Hi."

"It's Sophie, isn't it?" I said next, remembering when Ningju had introduced everyone.

She nodded, then held up her elephant. "Dis is Twunky," she said, smiling with all the innocence of a small child. "Twunky say hi."

I smiled back at Sophie, who, even with all the horrors around her, was still able to be a normal three-year-old girl. Maybe it was because she, not to mention Duane and Luke, had never known anything else, having been born into a world devastated by solar flares, a world where a horrible disease was turning people into monsters. In any case, I decided to play along with her. I took hold of the elephant's trunk as though I was shaking hands with it. "Hi, Twunky," I said, feeling slightly foolish about talking to a plush toy. "I'm Jenny."

Sophie suddenly became indignant. "No! Not Twunky! Twunky!"

It took me a moment to realise what she was trying to say. "Oh, you mean Trunky!" I said. Clearly, Sophie couldn't quite get her tongue round the _tr_ sound, so it sounded as though she was calling her elephant Twunky. I addressed the toy once more. "Hello there, Trunky." Looking at it close up, I could just make out the word "Zoo" on the tush tag, but the name of the zoo in question had faded so much that it was impossible to read. Trunky must be second hand, made before the sun flares. I knew it was unlikely Sophie had ever seen a real elephant. In fact, I didn't even know if real elephants still existed or had gone the same way as their Ice Age cousins, the mammoths.

And, thanks to a decision taken thirteen years ago to use a virus as a means of population control, the human race could also be facing extinction. I didn't know how long it would take, but there was little hope for my species if things kept going the way they were. True there were people like us, people who were immune to the Flare, but they were greatly outnumbered by those who were not immune. And, if the Flare continued to spread and the Immunes continued to be captured and sold to WICKED, the world would eventually be overrun with Cranks.

Was it already too late? Or could some of humanity, the part that was immune at least, still be saved? Did children like Sophie and Luke, not to mention the babies Olivia and Indira were expecting, represent hope for the future? Or were they part of the last generation of humans that would ever be born?

There was no way of answering any of those questions, at least not yet. But we could try to make a difference by joining the Right Arm in their mission to bring WICKED down and put an end to their inhuman experiments once and for all. And, when WICKED had been dealt with, we could turn our attention to rebuilding the world, to making sure there was at least some hope for what was left of humanity. Even if we had to go to the ends of the Earth to find somewhere that was free from Cranks and had not been reduced to a wasteland as a result of the sun flares.


	48. Chapter 47

**Chapter Forty-seven**

It felt strange being in a city again. Though I'd lived in Chicago for the first six years of my life, I'd been with WICKED for almost twice that length of time. Eleven years, the first nine of which had been spent in a vast complex with other kids who'd been stolen from their families to be used as human guinea pigs. After that, I'd been imprisoned in Group B's Glade for more than two years, before escaping with twenty-nine others, seventeen of whom were now dead. And that was just the members of Group B who had survived the Maze Trials. It did not include those we'd lost in the time leading up to our escape, nor the kids from Group A, of whom only a handful now remained.

Anyway, I hadn't set foot in a city since I was a child and neither had the other girls who had been subjects in the Trials. The boys had ventured into the city in the Scorch - Bjorn had said as much while we were sheltering from the lightning storm - but Harriet had decided our group should steer clear of it to avoid the Cranks. So, to cut a long story short, the moment we passed through the checkpoint and entered Denver marked the first time most of us had been in a city for a number of years. And, from what I'd seen, I didn't much care for the idea of living here, especially when corrupt officials were concealing the fact that the Flare was, as Peter had put it, "running rampant". Add to that the fact that Immunes were being kidnapped and sold to WICKED and Denver was as much of a safe haven as the desert WICKED had sent us to as part of the Scorch Trials. But where else could I go?

Not back to Chicago, that was certain. There was no way I could get there without a Berg and, even if I'd had access to one of the massive flying machines, there was nothing there for me any more. I had no family left and chances were anyone I'd known before WICKED took me was either dead or a Crank by now. Plus I'd checked the Netblock on the computer in Jason and Olivia's apartment and learned that Chicago had been officially declared "overrun", meaning the number of infected citizens had risen so high that they had swamped the healthy population, including the Immunes. So the place had been abandoned, left to fall into ruin like the minds of the Cranks who lived there.

And how long would it be before Denver went the same way? Not very long, according to Peter and Ningju. Though the city was officially a quarantine zone which no-one was allowed to enter without being tested for infection, the Flare had still found its way here. And, from what we'd been told, it was spreading rapidly, helped by the fact that a number of infected people were using the Bliss to try and blend in. Occasionally, one of them would be caught by the Flare testers and shipped out to the Crank Palace, but not before they had spread the virus to goodness knew how many other people. There were Immunes, people like us and Earl and the others, but more and more of them were disappearing every day. Being sold to WICKED. Which meant it was only a question of time before Denver too was overrun with Cranks.

* * *

Peter and Ningju never talked much about the Right Arm's activities, except with Teresa, who seemed to have become an honorary member of the organisation that was dedicated to bringing down our old "friends" at WICKED. They discussed their plans in hushed voices, quickly changing the subject if they realised anyone else was nearby; even so, I overheard some stuff about infiltrating WICKED's headquarters. Before I could find out more, however, I accidentally knocked against a nearby table lamp, sending it crashing to the floor and alerting Peter, Ningju and Teresa to my presence outside the door. As they hurried to investigate, I quickly removed myself from the scene, heading for the apartment I shared with Indira, Trix and Emily. I trusted Teresa, but I wasn't sure about Peter and Ningju; for all I knew, they were using us and the other Immunes they claimed to have "rescued". For one thing, since they themselves were not immune, why would they want to help a bunch of people who were? So I was wary of trusting them and others from our group felt the same way.

"What do you think of that Peter shank?" I heard Clint saying to Frypan on our fourth day in Denver. We were gathered in the communal hallway, all of us except Teresa, who was out with Peter and Ningju; they were on some sort of business for the Right Arm and wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning at the earliest. But everyone else, including Earl and the others, was here and I'd somehow ended up near the two boys from Group A.

"I don't trust him," Frypan replied. "And I don't trust that girlfriend of his either. I think all that klunk about helping Immunes is just a front for something else. They could be a couple of shuck bounty hunters for all we know."

"You could be right about that. Which might explain why they won't let us in on their plans."

"They let Teresa in, didn't they?" said Aris, who was nearby with Tariq, Bradley and Duane. "And she seems to trust them. Besides, they'd already saved ten Immunes from bounty hunters before they found us."

Frypan gave a short, barking laugh. "So they say. I bet they're just waiting until they've got enough people like us to sell back to WICKED. As for Teresa, I don't think even she really knows what they're up to." He sighed and looked moodily down at the floor. "Not that we've got much choice. Like Peter said, it's either trust the shucking Right Arm or take your chances out there." He waved his hand in the direction of the door. "Besides, we still ain't found Thomas and Minho." No mention of Newt, who, based on how fast the Flare had progressed in Flossie, Bjorn, Jackson, Yoko and Mona, might already be past the Gone.

"You think they're out there somewhere?" asked Clint.

Another barking laugh from Frypan. "If anyone could survive in this shuck place, it's them. Remember when they and Alby spent the night in the Maze?"

"Sure do! We all thought they were Griever fodder until the Doors opened and there they were. Safe and sound. Well, apart from Alby." Clint did not elaborate on what had happened to Alby, but I could guess; it was the same thing which had happened to some of the girls from Group B, of whom only Martha was still alive. "Anyway, we're better off here than out on the streets. And, if any bounty hunters show up, we won't let them take us without a fight."

"And what do you plan to fight them with?" asked Frypan. "All our Launchers and other weapons were destroyed when the Berg blew up. Or have you forgotten?"

At this point, I decided to leave the boys to it and moved to join Olivia, who was in the middle of telling Sophie and Luke a story. They weren't her children - the baby she was expecting would be her first - but she and Jason treated them as though they were. _"But the third bed was just right, so Goldilocks curled up inside it and went to sleep,"_ Olivia read out loud from the picture book in her hands. I remembered the same story from my own childhood, though I hadn't heard it since WICKED took me. An old story from long before the world became the nightmare place it was now.

* * *

For the past four days, most of our group had not set foot outside the apartment building; we had all agreed that it was too dangerous. Going out meant we risked being discovered as Immunes unless we could avoid the Flare testers, which was easier said than done since there were so many of them around. And, if you were stopped by one of them, you had no choice but to submit to a test; if you refused, they would test you by force or, worse, shoot you and claim you were acting like you were infected, even if you weren't. And, according to Earl, the police always took the Flare testers at their word. Not to mention that bounty hunters were on the lookout for anyone who was immune.

By now, however, I was beginning to grow tired of being stuck inside all the time. It wasn't like the gym, where there was nothing to do except eat, sleep and sit around, because there were plenty of things to keep us occupied. Books, most of which had been recovered from an old library. A selection of board games. A television in Kathryn and Duane's apartment, the only one in the building; we all gathered around it every evening to hear the latest reports on the spread of the Flare. Jason and Olivia's computer, which had access to the Netblock. There was even an old virtbox which Earl, who had worked for the company which made them before the sun flares, had managed to get working. So we weren't short of things to do. But we were still confined and I had reached the point where I couldn't take much more.

So, later that day, I decided to go out. Just long enough to get some fresh air, then I would head back before anyone realised I was gone. Which meant I couldn't go far, not that I wanted to with things the way they were; I just needed to get away for a while, even though I knew it was dangerous for people like me out there. But, just as I was making my way towards the door which led outside, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned and saw that it was Indira, heading in the same direction. "Are you going outside?" she asked as she drew level with me.

I nodded. "Just for a few minutes," I added. "I mean, it's not like we're not allowed to leave this place; we just thought we'd be safer staying put for the time being. But we've been here four days now and . . . Well, I just need some fresh air."

Indira looked at me for several seconds, the expression on her face telling me she understood exactly how I felt. The kind of expression exchanged between two friends who are so close they are almost like siblings. "Mind if I join you?"

Of course, I wouldn't mind in the least and I could tell from her tone that she knew this. So minutes later, having been fortunate enough to find the hallway deserted, we were unbolting the door and stepping outside for the first time in four days. We didn't have a particular destination in mind, not that it mattered because we wouldn't have time to go very far, certainly not to explore the whole city. But that wasn't the objective; getting out, even if it was only for a few minutes, was.

* * *

As we set out, having decided to walk to the end of the block and back, I saw once again how rundown the backstreets of Denver were. The buildings looked like they hadn't undergone any kind of maintenance work for over a decade, which they probably hadn't, as evidenced by the rusty fire escapes, the broken windows, the layers of graffiti. From inside some of the buildings, people watched us; I couldn't see them, but I could sense their presence behind the grimy windows, several of which were just sheets of clear plastic nailed to the frames. And they made me uneasy.

Just as we got to the end of the block, two children appeared from the opposite direction. A boy and a girl only a few years older than Sophie and Luke, both very dirty. They were laughing, but not in the way children usually laugh; there was something manic about it and it didn't take me long to realise what that something was. These children had the Flare; their eyes were filled with the same madness I'd seen in Flossie and the others, their youth making it all the more disturbing. I'd never encountered infected people this young before. Adults and teenagers, yes, but neither of this pair could have been more than seven or eight years old, two kids whose minds were being destroyed by a virus which had been unleashed more than a decade before. They stopped running and stood facing each other, breathing heavily.

"Don't take my stuff!" the girl suddenly yelled, even though the boy was carrying nothing that I could see. Certainly nothing that might potentially belong to her.

"Out of my way, you smelly bitch!" the boy yelled back. Not the sort of language a boy his age should have been using, but he was probably unaware of what he was saying, as often happened as the Flare took hold and destroyed the areas of the brain responsible for language. Eventually, he would reach a point where he could only repeat the same word or phrase over and over, before he lost the ability to speak at all. Like the woman who had ripped Donna's throat out with her bare teeth; she'd only been capable of making primitive animal noises. This, I'd learned from Ms Gardener, was the last stage of the Flare before the brain shut down and the infected person died. Most Cranks, though, were killed before they reached that level.

"Don't take my stuff! Don't take my stuff! Don't take my stuff!" After the girl had repeated this a few more times, it became clear that she was incapable of saying anything else, meaning she was further along than I'd initially thought. Not that it mattered how advanced the Flare was in her; without a cure, her fate was inevitable. And the same was true of the boy.

I turned to Indira. "What are they doing out here? They're obviously infected, so why aren't they in the Crank Palace?"

"I don't know," she replied. "But I'd guess someone's been hiding them, only they've gotten loose somehow." She shook her head as if she couldn't believe the children who stood only a few feet away from us really had the Flare. "And they're just kids," she added, placing her hand over her belly as if to protect her unborn child. Not that she would be able to protect it from the Flare once it was born, unless it had inherited her immunity and we both knew the odds were against that happening.

"Don't take my stuff!"

"You stink!"

As the children continued to yell at no-one in particular, Indira and I were forced to the only conclusion possible. We had to get out of here. These kids were, like everyone else who caught the Flare virus and wasn't immune to its effects, beyond help, trapped in a downward spiral of insanity from which there was no escape. Even reasoning with them wasn't an option; I'd tried that with Bjorn and I remembered all too clearly how that had turned out. But, before either of us could make a move, the sound of pounding footsteps heralded the arrival of four red-shirted Flare testers.

"Hold it!" one of them ordered in a voice distorted by the protective mask he wore. "Stand by to be tested for the Flare!"

* * *

The two infected children had no time to even think about trying to escape, assuming they were still capable of thinking, before they were seized by the Flare testers. First the boy, then the girl. In both cases, one of the testers restrained one of the children while another moved to position the testing device. And, in both cases, the children kicked and struggled, sensing even in their madness what their fate would be if they tested positive. But there was no way either of them could win the fight and it wasn't long before the girl was pinned to the ground, tears rolling down her face, her eyes showing a mix of fear and insanity that no child's eyes should ever show. "Don't take my stuff! Don't take my stuff!" she cried over and over. Seconds later, her words were muffled as the testing device was placed over her face.

"Come on," I said to Indira, as the boy received the same treatment as his companion. "Let's get out of here while they're busy with those kids." Callous, but what else could we do? Even if we could get the children away from the testers, they had been doomed from the moment they caught the virus.

And so Indira and I tried to slip away while the Flare testers were distracted. But we didn't get very far before one of the testers fired his weapon at us; the projectile missed by several inches, but it was enough to stop us in our tracks. "Stay right where you are, both of you!" the tester shouted, keeping his weapon trained on Indira and me. "Try anything and I'll fire again - and I won't miss a second time!" He turned to his three companions, two of whom were keeping a tight hold on the children. "What about the other two?"

"Infected, just as we thought." The tester who answered was a woman; even the distortion caused by her mask couldn't lower the pitch of her voice. "What do we do with them?" she asked, nodding towards the kids who had just tested positive for the Flare. Though all the testers had really done was confirm what they already knew, or at least suspected. And they had been completely ruthless in the way they carried out the test, not giving any consideration to the fact that they were dealing with two young children. No doubt they believed their actions were justified because of the danger the Flare virus posed, but that was exactly the kind of excuse WICKED used.

"The usual," the tester who was threatening Indira and me replied. "I'll deal with these two." I needed no-one to tell me who he meant when he said "these two"; nor did I need to be told that the children were about to be taken on a one-way trip to the Crank Palace. And it was unlikely either of them would last long once they were there. A few days maybe - if they were lucky. "Right," the guy added, addressing Indira. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to test you for the Flare, then I'm going to test your friend. And, if either of you try to stop me, I won't hesitate to shoot both of you. Do I make myself clear?"

Indira and I nodded slowly, knowing he meant exactly what he said. Even if we told him we were immune, this wouldn't make any difference; everyone who was stopped by the Flare testers had to submit to a test regardless of when they had previously been tested. So, for the second time in less than a week, we found ourselves looking into a Flare-testing device, felt the wire prick our necks. Of course, unlike most people, we didn't have to worry about what the test results would be; there was no danger that we would suddenly lose our immunity. And, once our status as Immunes was confirmed, we would be free to go - or so we thought.

* * *

"So," the Flare tester said as he checked his device. "A couple of Munies, eh? I don't recall seeing you around before. Where have you been hiding yourselves?" There was something about his tone that I didn't like, so I kept my mouth firmly shut, shaking my head to let Indira know she shouldn't say anything, waiting to see what the guy would do next.

What he did next was get very angry. "Look," he told us. "I haven't got all day. I'm going to ask you again and one of you is going to answer me truthfully. Where have you been hiding yourselves? You've got ten seconds to answer, starting now!" With that, he started counting, just as Teresa had done when she threatened to have the girls from Group B start killing Thomas's companions. "One . . ." To show that he wasn't bluffing, he raised his gun and pointed it at Indira's head. "Two . . ."

That was as far as he got before I shouted for him to stop. I couldn't let him shoot Indira. Not only was she the only one of my close friends who was still alive, she was also pregnant; if she was killed, her child would be killed too and I couldn't allow that. Even if it meant betraying the rest of our group, not to mention Earl and the others. "We've been staying in an apartment building with some other Immunes, back that way." I indicated the direction, then, tears welling up in my eyes, gave the guy the address. He remained unmoving, his gun still aimed at Indira. "I've told you what you wanted to know!" I shouted at him, keeping my voice as steady as I could. "Now, let us go!"

He paused as if to consider whether or not he should do as I said and let us go on our way. "OK, maybe I will," he said. "Or maybe I'd rather take the two of you with me! WICKED will pay me handsomely for you." I couldn't see his face behind his mask, but I could picture him grinning in anticipation like a mercenary about to receive a big financial reward for doing someone else's dirty work. Which is exactly what he was, a bounty hunter being paid to capture Immunes and hand them over to WICKED. And I'd just told him where he could find more than twenty, including three children. The thought of Duane, Sophie and Luke ending up in WICKED's clutches made me feel physically sick, but I wasn't given time to dwell on my betrayal before the Flare tester/bounty hunter started barking out orders.

"Wait here," he told his three companions, who were still guarding the infected children. "Someone will be along shortly to take them to the Crank Palace." He turned to Indira and me. "Right. Keep your hands where I can see them and start walking. And, if either of you try anything, you won't live to regret it. I don't care if you Munies are more valuable alive."

Had he not been armed, Indira and I might have attempted to get away, lose him in the backstreets of Denver, then try to get back to the apartment building and warn the others. Our time as Runners had taught us to pay attention to our surroundings, so we shouldn't have too much difficulty finding our way. But his gun gave him a considerable advantage; if we gave any hint that we were planning to make a run for it, he was more than capable of shooting us in the back. There was nothing we could do except raise our hands to head height and start walking in the direction he told us to go.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to Indira. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't wanted to go outside . . ." That was as far as I got before our captor interrupted me.

"No talking! Just keep moving and don't even think about trying any funny business!"


End file.
